



Class. 

Book 

Ccjpglit N" 

COHfRIGHT DEPOSIT. 














/ 




THE BOME/niANS 
or THE LATIN QUARTER 

(SCENES DE LA VIE DE BOHEyAE) 







V-i 








, f'r. 




■^■^. ^r i 


f^- 





V 


“* . I.- ''•I '**-'v- 

•*- -— V ^ ^ - , . - * « ^ • .iff -^ -- - , . 

•4 x’^ *,■ 




, -T , ir\\ V^- i“’ 

■ -'• * -. /*» CT 
♦ * •_**•■ <-^ 7 * I • ,,jip 


\ ^ » 



I'd™ 

A jf j 







-dfefe. j* ' ‘ ’ 

, ■ -r- ' ^ -. ■• T ■ - msB^ ^ : ■ I^' '• ' ' *• ‘K'T ■ " -■ «^^> V ' 

• ' .!•• . e *« ■*^ . tf 


•-=■■ > '• ' .-» .*WW^ 

-.--■ . . . - > *. -■'' '■ •'-■ 

... 



^•- " ^ t ^ \ ■''% 

- ». *7 ijt *^if» >-|rjX rtf^3 

’ - 7 iXM§ 

* • MM* • ■^' - *li * ‘^m ■* ■ 

’ ' j—J . - • 


•sV:; 


i: 5* 


^ ' ■■ ' • ^4--w -v-:^.*. 4 •: ,. i "^^'1' 

■ "'^■i: r''.i ; ^’ i 







h.’ ’ r 


^^.i»-r.-:^.tiiiii ■ 


P' 


«V ml' 





I ' 








>: 


“ .f*' 






*• .l-u.. 






I y 












- Jt^. 




.V< 


*~i 








‘;\at.i«A!...'^ 


B» < • 


->0 


Ci^l 


A- ^ 




r!iM I V 


f^ftT *t.' 
^. . . f- Sdri 


« . • . . .. 


■ -'^ "B 




' " l' ^ - 


•^.Tl 




Henri Murger. 


/ 


The Bohemians 

OF 

The Latin Quarter 

(SCENES DE LA VIE DE BOHEME) 


BY 

HENRI MURGER 

% * 


ILLUSTRATED WITH 18 ETCHINGS FROM DESIGNS 

BY 

MONTADER 


ART EDITION 


iINDVJTRIA* 

5C/^PCRCRE5CAM 



CHICAGO 

LAIRD & LEE. PUBLISHERS 




TZ 3 


Copyright, 1899, by Wm. H. Lee. 


■ W O COP I c S R c C 1 V t 



^ -v v'.)-- 


c 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


Henri Murger was bom in 1822 and was the son of a man who 
exercised the joint calling of tailor and doorkeeper in the Rue Saint 
Georges, Paris. After receiving a scanty and fragmentary education he 
entered a lawyer’s office, but like many another “ youth fore-doomed his 
father’s soul to cross,” thought more of scribbling stanzas than of en- 
grossing deeds. His verses, however, gained him the patronage of M. 
de Jouy, the Academician. Thanks to this gentleman, he obtained the 
position of secretary to Count Tolstoi, a Russian nobleman, who paid 
him infinitely less than his coachman or cook, but who, on the other 
hand, does not seem to have exacted much in return for the fifty francs a 
month disbursed. Murger’s literary career began about 1841. Ilis first 
essays were mainly poetical, but under the pressure of stern necessity he 
wrote whatever he could find a market for, turning out prose, to use his 
own expression, at the rate of eighty francs an acre, and scattering his 
talent in the columns of petty literary journals so shaky that they never 
dared announce anything as “to be continued in our next,” and even in 
trade periodicals. Like his own Rodolphe, he edited a fashion paper, 
the Moniteitr de la Afode, and the Castor ^ an organ of the hat trade. 
His struggles and privations had been terrible, but his position gradually 
improved, especially under the influence of Champfleury, with whom he 
resided for some time and who urged him to devote himself to prdse 
fiction. 

About the year 1844 Murger joined the staff of the Corsaire in which, 
in 1848, he published The Bohemians. The work caused a sensation in 
literary circles, but the limited circulation of the periodical prevented 
this from extending to the general public. It may be worthy of nofe 
that the author received fifteen francs for each installment of the work as 
it appeared in the Corsaire^ and that he sold the completed volume for 
five hundred francs to a publisher who got rid of seventy thousand 


VI 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


copies. Murger found life still hard till M. Barridre, a young dramatic 
author, proposed to him that they should turn the book into a play. At 
this time Murger was living in an attic in the Latin Quarter, and on the 
afternoon when the playwright presented himself there he found the 
novelist in bed. Presuming that he was ill Barriere was about to beat a 
retreat, but Murger courteously begged of him to enter and avail himself 
of the only chair which the room contained. When Barriere had 
broached the subject of his visit Murger readily fell in with his sugges 
tion and the pair soon became so friendly that the dramatist suggested 
an adjournment to a neighbouring cafe. “ I am sorry to say that I can’t 
come,” replied Murger, with some little embarrassment. “Why not? 
surely you are not ill,” urged Barriere. “No,” responded the novelist, 
“ but the fact is — I haven’t a pair of trousers to put on.” Then, as 
Barriere looked at him in amazement, he proceeded to relate that an im- 
pecunious Bohemian friend, having to solicit a favour of some function- 
ary, had borrowed his only pair of trousers that morning, and that he, 
Murger, was compelled to remain in bed until his friend turned up 
again. Aftei- a hearty laugh Barriere offered to go and buy his new 
acquaintance another pair of pantaloons, but Murger declined the pro- 
posal, and they parted — soon to meet again, however, to set to work 
upon the contemplated play. 

The piece was produced at the Variates towards the end of 1849, and 
met with phenomenal success. From that moment Murger’s career 
was assured. He at once took a position amongst contemporary writers 
and left the Latin Quarter, though still continuing to draw models for 
the characters of several of his subsequent works from the associates of 
his youth. He continued to work steadily for several years, the best 
part of the last of these being mainly spent at Marlotte in the Forest of 
Fontainebleau, where he had a little cottage. Seized with a sudden ill- 
ness during a visit to Paris in January, 1861, he was removed to Dubois 
Hospital, where he expired a few days later. 

It is questionable after all whether Murger was at heart a Bohemian. 
He has, indeed, been reproached that after having swam vigorously 
away from the Raft of the Medusa, on which so many of his comrades 
were starving, he opened a fusillade of irony upon them, a task that he 
might well have left to others. His dress was decent, his manners those 
of a man of the world, and his conversation, if witty, not overladen with 
artistic and literary slang. He felt, indeed, that his early life and work 
told against him in certain quarters, and that there were people who 
cannot understand that one can cross a muddy street without getting 
splashed, or that there are pavements in the Latin Quarter. This rejcalls 
an anecdote. One day he had only two sous in his pocket and had not 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


vii 


breakfasted. But he had to call on an editor, and in order to look smart 
decided upon having his boots cleaned. The boot -black set to woik and 
was just finishing the first boot when it began to rain. “ It would be 
useless extravagance to go on, ’ ’ said Murger, handing him one sou and 
walking off. 

Murger possessed a curious and attentive mind, and, as a writer, was 
careful and exact. Writing was indeed a difficult task to him, he felt his 
lack of education. He used to work, by preference, at night, stimulating 
his mind by copious draughts of coffee and surrounding himself with 
a number of lighted candles. He would put ten sheets of paper be- 
fore him, write the same idea down in ten different fashions, and then 
choose the one that pleased him best, or if he could not make a choice 
would toss up a coin and settle it that way. He would strive to polish a 
phrase as a lapidary polishes a stone, for the poet of Bohemia was the 
most conscientious of artists. It was this excessive care that led to his 
published works being fewer than might have been anticipated, since he 
devoted so much time to each. The works written in his second manner 
differ widely from those of his early days, and he is reported to have said 
of The Bohemians, “That devil of a book will hinder me from ever cross- 
ing the Pont des Arts ’ ’—and becoming an Academician, which was one 
of his dreams. The coffee drinking had a very injurious effect on 
Murger. It led to constantly recurring attacks of purpura, which, as 
early as 1840 made him the inmate of a hospital and was also no doubt 
the cause of that terrible restlessness which would never suffer him to 
remain in the same place for more than an hour or so, and caused him to 
be spoken of as the Wandering Christian. 

Murger’s wit is best shown in his works, though one or two of his say- 
ings deserve quotation. Plis furniture was once seized. “Already, 
said he to the bailiff, “see what it is not to have a clock, one never 
knows the hour one’s bills fall due. ’ ’ When his first success was achieved 
he did his best to clear off his old debts, but this only made his creditors 
keener. “ I have watered my creditors and they are sprouting afresh, ” 
was his comment. During his sojourn at Marlotte he became a most 
enthusiastic sportsman, though it was a standing jest that whilst he sallied 
out day after day he never hit anything. Indeed, he wrote to a friend when 
inviting him down, “There are pheasants. I will introduce you to an 
old cock whom I have missed five times. Indeed, he knows me, and now 
does not trouble himself to take flight at my passage.” Winter he de- 
scribed as “ a beastly time, when the sun himself has a red nose.” His 
early death was in a great measure due to a neglect of the regimen pre- 
scribed by the doctors, for as he said: “When I am ill I treat my illnesses 
with indifference and cure them by contempt ” To the last, however. 


viii 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


he retained his cheerfulness, and when in the hospital observed to one of 
his friends, “I am so weak that even a fly might safely challenge me.” 

The Bohemians y wild and eccentric as the work may appear, is essen- 
tially true to Nature. It is a series of sketches of real life. The expe- 
riences related are actual ones, the characters existed and can be readily 
identified. Many writers have put their heart into their work, but 
Murger put his life. It was when living with Champfleury in the Rue de 
Vaugirard that, under the influence of the author of the Bourgeois de 
Molinchard^ he began to abandon the Muses and devote himself to prose; 
it was during this period that the first germs of the book that was to 
render him famous were deposited in his mind. The scenes which he 
has embellished in describing he was present at, the actors who take part 
in them and whose physiognomy his pen has somewhat poetized he knew 
and spoke to. 

Rodolphe is Murger himself. As Theodore de Banville has observed, 
though with some exaggeration, “ That which was done by Rodolphe 
during the month that he was Mademoiselle Mimi’s neighbour has had 
nothing analogous to it perhaps since literature has existed. He passed 
his days in composing poems and sketching out the plots of pieces, in 
covering Mimi’s hands with kisses like a glove; but the daily bread was 
the feiiilleton of the Corsaire^ and as Rodolphe had neither money nor 
books to invent anything but his own life, each evening he wrote as a 
feuilleton for the Cor s air e the life of that day, each day he lived the 
feuilleton of the next. It was thus that the morrow of I know not what 
quarrel, after the style of the lovers of Horace, Mimi leaning on her 
lover’s arm was bowed to in the Luxembourg by the poet of the Feuilles 
d'automne, she returned home quite proud to the Rue des Canettes, and 
that very evening Rodolphe wrote on this theme one of the most pleasing 
chapters.” 

Rodolphe himself surely speaks in the following letter written to Leon 
Noel after he had received three hundred and fifty francs on account ot 
an epithalamium on the marriage of a Russian princess in 1841. . . “If 
I do not send you this message by a courier in my own livery it is solely 
because you live a little too near. Thirty leagues — it is not worth the 
trouble, otherwise my means would permit it, for at the present moment 
I swim in a river of gold, an ocean of fifty centime pieces. It is a regu- 
lar rain of monarchs and monarchesses of all nations and all kinds of pro- 
files, I wash my hands in Pactolus and in almond paste. I have multi- 
coloured gloves, ditto coats, ditto trousers. You see poets are humbugs 
when they assert that life is evil and gloomy. They do not know life, 
these howlers of miserere nobis ^ they do not dream of the existence of a 
crowd of pleasures which I now enjoy, they have never understood all 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


IX 


the enjoyment one feels to hear a cabman ask you for an extra tip, they 
ignore the amount of perfume there is in a Havana cigar, of lustre in the 
best composites, and of harmony in the creak of a tight-fitting patent 
leather boot. Well, all this I feel, I see, I hear. You would no longer 
recognize your stout Fleming. He has vanished, he has crumbled to 
dust with his old frock-coat and his boots with three rows of port-holes 
like a ship of war. He died an owl to resuscitate a phoenix. What a 
fine Latin verse that would make I feel sure. Ah ! it is so, my dear fel- 
low. At this hour the high and powerful Lord Viscount de la Tour 
d’ Auvergne* is dazzling. Passers-by draw aside on his passage, beggars 
ask him for alms and he gives them a franc, women do not ask him for 
anything and nevertheless he wafts them a smile — and what a smile ! 
Such, oh ! great man, is my portion, and I conclude from it that life is a 
fine thing. Now you will no doubt ask whence comes the cloud charged 
with five franc pieces that has broken over my head. This hurricane 
comes from the North, it is a magnificent aurora borealis. My employer 
has advanced me three hundred and fifty francs at once. Judge of my 
jubilation when this stunning news reached me, I quivered from your 
late cravat down to my late shoes. I ran at once to cash my draft on 
Rothschild, from there to the library, from there to the tailor, from there 
to the restaurant, from there to the theatre, from there to the cafe, from 
there home, where I plunged into new sheets and an atmosphere of per- 
fumed smoke, and where I dreamed that I was the Emperor of Morocco 
and was marrying the Bank of France.” Six weeks later Murger was in 
the hospital with a second attack of purpura. 

Schaunard is Alexandre Schanne, “the sole survivor of the quatuor 
Murger ’ ’ when he published his memoirs at the beginning of last year 
(1887), a few months only before his death. He was the son of a toy- 
maker in the Rue aux Ours, and was at first destined for an artistic 
career, becoming a pupil of Leon Coignet. Champfleury, however, 
paints him as “quitting the easel for the piano and asking himself at all 
hours of the day, ‘Am I painter or a musician ? ’ ” and although he once 
figured in the Salon and contributed illustrations to periodicals, he was 
more successful in his musical compositions. I'he celebrated symphony 
“On the Influence of Blue in Art” was really composed and frequently 
executed by him, though never published. He ascribes it to his having 
painted a good deal on the summit of the towers of Notre Dame, a con- 
sequence of sky-gazing at that height being that he began to see blue and 
to paint blue. He became acquainted with Murger in 1841, and for 
some time they lived together in the Rue de la Harpe, their friendship 
continuing to the close of the author’s life. Schanne had amongst other 


Murger was then living in the Rue de la Tour d’Auvergne. 


K 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


nicknames that of Schannard-sauvage, and in the opening chapter of 
Bohemians as originally published in the Corsaire Murger wrote of him 
as Schannard, which by a printer’s error left uncorrected became Schaun- 
ard. On his father’s death Schanne abandoned his artistic career and 
took charge of the toy-making business, which he carried on to the last. 

Marcel is composed of two artists who ended very differently, Lazare 
and Tabar. Lazare was a tall, powerful, fair-haired and rather red- 
faced young fellow. The best off of all the set, he lived with his brother 
in the Rue d’Enfer, in a house inherited from their father. There was 
no other Bohemian so well to do, and perhaps it was sheer love of con- 
trast that led him to take such interest in the seamy side of Parisian life, 
to hunt out odd industries like Champfleury, and haunt strange dens like 
Private d’Anglemont. Tabar was .a young painter of some talent and 
extraordinary strength. “One evening,” says Schanne, “when seven 
or eight of us had started on an excursion into the country, he thrashed 
and routed a gang of roughs who attacked us near the Barriere du 
Maine. This Hercules of a painter hit so hard and so fast that there was 
no need of us even helping him. It was a sight to see him at work, note 
that he was in a dress-coat, his favourite attire.” The incident of the 
Passage of the Red Sea is connected with Tabar. He, indeed, began a 
large pictuieof this subject, but the cost of models, costumes, etc., proved 
beyond his means. He resolved, therefore, to modify the composition of 
the picture, which worked out successfully figured in the Salon of 1 842 
under the title oiN'iobe and her children slain by the arrows of Apollo and 
Diana. It was a heap of fourteen corpses, Tabar having experimented 
on the devotion of his friends, who in modest undress posed in turn, and 
had the satisfaction of viewing their bodies in the Louvre wept over with 
oily tears by Niobe. Tabar continued his career not without success, 
and obtained a medal in the Salon of 1882 for his work. He died 
lately. 

Colline was made up of Jean Wallon and Trapadoux, the former, a 
native of Laon, who was introduced into the circle by his fellow towns- 
man, Champfleury, supplying the outward model. He was a strongly 
built young fellow of middle height, wearing his hair long. Nadar 
wrote “I can still see him as when we were young, with his unkempt 
chestnut hair under his broad brimmed hat, his long brown great coat or 
coarse cloth, his books under his arm.” Schanne adds, “ His thin nose, 
grey-blue eyes, and plump hands, completed one of those envelopes in 
which mystic souls love to dwell. An hereditary rentier, he lived with 
his mother at the He Saint Louis, whither his stomach took him twice a 
day. Despite these advantages he was not lively, or else his liveliness 
was the reflection of that of others. His ecclesiastically-cut coat was 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


xi 


Stuffed with books at the four cardinal points, each of the pockets bore 
the name of one of our public libraries. It was from the shelf of Greek 
authors that he prompted me in my part during the famous evening 
when I imitated the athletic sports of the 4th Olympiad. After dining he 
came to Momus’s to philosophize with Trapadoux, another library on 
two legs.” Nadar goes on to state that it must have been from this con- 
tact with Trapadoux that Wallon derived his own mania for mystery. 
Every evening he would discreetly escape from the Cafe Momus and 
vanish no one knew where. On several occasions his companions strove 
to follow him, but he always managed to throw them off the scent. 
They, therefore, imagined a little romance, and created out of their own 
minds a lady who, though nobody knew why, received the title of “ The 
lady with the green umbrella.” The truth was, that Wallon was about 
the quietest of the set. “He represented amongst us,” says Nadar, 
“where naturally everything had its representative, a dead science, 
theology ... he bore all his life upon his strong shoulders the 
weightiest and also the vainest of chimeras, the reconciliation of the 
primitive Church with modern society, that dream of some tender souls.” 
He became a voluminous writer on ecclesiastical and theological topics, 
his works including a history of the Church of France, and after being 
for some time manager of the Imprimerie Nationale he died in 1882. 
Trapadoux was a tall, spare, strongly built fellow, with a thick beard 
and shaggy hair, who wore a tall hat and a long green coat, whence he 
derived his nickname of the “Green Giant.” No one ever knew 
whether he had private property or some remunerative employment. 
He was only seen on the quays book-hunting on Sundays and holidays. 
At dusk he would go to the Cafe Momus where he dined, and where the 
landlord in exchange for certain literary counsels used to give him a 
special wine. He too wrote a theological work, Jean de DieUy and also 
some dramatic criticisms, notably one on Madame Ristori. 

Barbemuche was a fancy sketch of Charles Barbara, who was by no 
means flattered by it, and who to some extent revenged himself on 
Murger in the Assassinat du Pont Rouge. He was the son of a musical 
instrument maker at Orleans, and though a good fellow at the bottom, 
was not very taking at the outset. His dress and manner smacked of a 
situation he had held as master at the college of Nantes. He willingly 
enveloped himself in mystery, and the group to which Murger introduced 
him when tutor in the family of Drouin de Lhuys never visited his resi- 
dence. After a fairly successful literary career, he suddenly lost his wife 
and child during the cholera of 1865. Taken ill himself and removed to 
a hospital, he committed suicide by throwing himself out of a window. 

Many of the minor characters too are traceable. The Jew Medicis, 


XII 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


alias Salomon, really kept a shop in the Rue du Musee one of the little 
streets formerly encumbering the Place du Carrousel. M. Benoit was 
the well-known landlord of the Hotel Merciol in the Rue des Canettes. 
Even Baptiste had his prototype. 

“ Mimi ” was for Murger, a kind of generic appellation. His first love 
was undoubtedly one of his cousins, named Angele, the daughter of a 
stove maker, more or less Piedmontese. But this love was more than 
platonic, it was ethereal, for his young relative was never touched by it, 
neither bouquets nor madrigals in prose and verse could move her. She 
married, and he, full of her remembrance paints her under the name ot 
Helene in the Buvetirs iTeau. She had, however, a friend named Marie, 
who became Madame Duchampy in the Scenes de, la vie de yennesse, and 
partly lends her features to the Mimi of the present volume. She was 
more compassionate toward the poet, and her very effective compassion 
lasted a considerable time, although she was married. Schanne mentions 
meeting them together several times at the masked balls at the Opera. 
She was a frail, delicate looking woman with a pale complexion and blue 
eyes. As to the girl who was his chief model for the Mimi of The Bohe- 
mians^ and whose real name was Lucile, Murger’s own description of her 
may be supplemented by Theodore de Banville’s. “ The real Mimi was 
one of those sickly Parisian flowers that are born and grow up in the 
shade without a ray of sunlight, and who afterwards go mad with joy, 
when at length they see the sun one day at Marlotte or at Bougival. 
Very pale, with dead white skin, somewhat faded looking chestnut hair 
and bluish-grey eyes, one saw that she had suffered with resignation, that 
poverty with a poet seemed to her paradise.” Both of these descriptions 
are over eulogistic, for Murger and De Banville saw Mimi with artists’ 
eyes and through spectacles washed with the waters of youth. Mimi was 
indeed a sickly plant grown up in the shade, a Parisienne of the Fau- 
bourgs, and if her face at times wore an angelic expression, she was none 
the less devoid of all moral sense. She was a shameless little hussy. 
When Murger’s friends would urge on her the decency of at least keep- 
ing up appearances and giving apparently valid excuses for a night spent 
away from the lodging-house in the Rue des Canettes where she was liv- 
ing with him, she would only laugh. She seemed to experience pleasure 
in keeping a man of superior intellect chained to her feet and mad with 
jealousy. Her end was a lamentable one. She died of phthisis at the 
hospital, for M. Benoit would not allow a death in his house, and Murger 
not having been informed in time could not claim her body, which ac- 
cording to rule went to the dissecting-room. This incident is connected 
with that of the muff of Francine. The latter personage never existed, 
and the muff was really a dress promised to Mimi. Schanne adds that 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


xiii 

there was a third Mimi who did not play a very prominent part in Mur- 
ger’s life, save as regards this name bestowed on her by him in memory 
of the two preceding ones. “She was a blonde, named Juliette, well 
behaved and respectable looking. She willingly offered a cup of tea to 
her lover’s friends who made her cough with their tobacco smoke, but 
whose long discussions on art she listened to with politeness, perhaps 
even with interest. As by some fatality Mimi III. also died of consump- 
tion.” Some love tokens Murger always carried with him, and they 
were displayed on the wall of all his abodes, from the half naked garret 
in the Latin Quarter to his first comfortable dwelling in the Rue Notre 
Dame de Lorette. They consisted of a velvet mask, a woman’s gloves, 
and a faded bouquet. They had been Marie’s. 

The Musette of Murger and the Mariette of Champfleury are modelled 
on one and the same person, though both writers have deviated some- 
what from their original. Murger, for instance, ascribes to her vocal 
qualifications she did not possess. This was a trait he borrowed from 
Lise, the wife of Pierre Dupont, who at that time used to charm their 
circle with the inexhaustible store of country ditties she sang in a rather 
sharp but true voice. Mariette, for such was Musette’s name, was re- 
markably well made, and was a model highly esteemed by both painters 
and sculptors. Her features were not so regular, and her face acquired 
a mocking aspect from the fact that when she smiled the left side of her 
mouth was drawn up, whilst the right retained its normal position, a fact 
that led her friends to remark that she “ squinted with her lips.” She 
was fully conscious of her plastic value, and was ready at the slightest 
provocation to reveal it. “One evening, at Lazare’s,” says Schanne, 
“a dozen of us were met, amongst whom was the austere Jean Journet, 
who had constituted himself in the name of the ‘ phalanstere, ’ the lay 
apostle of virtue. The idea struck our host to offer us the spectacle of 
the Temptation of St. Anthony, for to suggest it to him he had on his 
mantelshelf amongst other trifles a herd of six little pigs in gingerbread. 
After he had whispered to Mariette, she suddenly threw everything that 
covered her to the ground, and went and sat down on Jean Journet’s 
knees. . . . The apostle remained for a moment confused and unde- 

cided. But he suddenly rose, which caused the temptress to slip to the 
floor. Then he rushed out like a madman, and the staircase echoed with 
his maledictions.” Mariette ended by leaving the Latin Quarter for the 
Rue Breda, where she lived an irregular life in more regular fashion, and 
pursued the career she had chosen in this world more seriously. Murger 
may say that her life offered alternations of broughams and omnibuses, 
but it would seem that she only rode in the latter from economical 
motives. She was careful without being miserly, and amassed a large 


XIV 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


sum. With this she resolved to proceed to Algiers where her sister was 
living. Accordingly, about 1863, she embarked at Marseilles on board 
the Atlas. This boat was never more heard of from the moment of de- 
parture, and poor Musette and her treasure lie at the bottom of the 
Mediterranean. 

As to Phdmie Teinturiere, Schanne has surely the most right to speak. 
“It was at the period when one Alexandre S. wore a nankeen suit of 
the most revolting yellow, and played on the hunting horn without be- 
ing a hunter. One evening he had accompanied into a free-and-easy in 
the Rue Saint Martin a jeweler, the owner of a tenor voice, who wanted 
to have his accompaniment played by the author of the ‘ Symphony on 
the Influence of Blue in Art.’ Whilst he was at the piano the said Alex- 
andre S. noted out of the corner of his eye the nervous agitation pro- 
duced by his music in the young dilettanti of the locality. Soon 
approaching the instrument in order to be nearer the instrumentalist, 
she ventured to ask for a few notes to accompany a ballad she knew. 
This featherless linnet was named Louisette, and was never called 
Phemie save in Murger’s book. Why now the surname of ‘ Teinturidre ’ 
under which she is known in story ? I will tell you. Louisette worked 
all day at an artificial flower maker’s in the Rue Saint Denis. She was a 
‘dipper,’ that is to say, that having to dye the materials used in imitat- 
ing foliage her hands were continually of the brightest green. She was 
a plump little woman, with blue eyes, despite her dark hair. Her nose 
was saucy, her mouth laughing, and behind teeth, as white as if they were 
false, lay hid the voice of a songstress. She was devoid of all instruc- 
tion, but had the spirit of repartee of a Parisian street Arab. She was 
indeed so turbulent and foul-mouthed that she was often caught slanging 
the boys in the street in their own language, and having no regard for 
the dignity of her sex, would ride behind carriages like these young- 
sters.” She also seems, as we learn from Alfred Delorme, “to have 
gone to and fro from the barracks to the studio, from the Carbineers to 
Schaunard, and from Schaunard to the Chasseurs de Vincennes.” 
Hence, as Schanne remarks, “All the same when Murger speaks of 
Phemie Teinturidre as ‘ the idol of Schaunard,’ I think he goes a little 
too far.” 

Places as well as persons are copied from nature. The CafS Momus 
was a real establishment, and has been immortalized in fiction by Champ- 
fleury as well as by Murger. Schanne writes of it as follows: “The 
Cafe Momus was located at No. 15 of the silent and gloomy Rue des 
Pretres Saint-Germain-l’Auxerrois. The house still stands, but now 
shelters other industries. Murger and his friends preferred the upstairs 
room where smoking was allowed. There they, were to some extent pri- 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


XV 


vate and free from intrusion, the master of the establishment seeing to this. 
But if he overwhelmed us with attention it was on account of the ambi- 
tion he himself had to write. He even showed himself more especially 
friendly towards Trapadoux and other literati^ whose advice he would 
ask. At closing time this refreshment house keeper and courtier of the 
Muses would stand beside the counter smiling or not at the customer, ac- 
cording to whether the latter was a wielder of the pen or the brush. 

“ The almost daily frequenters of the Cafe Momus were, besides Mur- 
ger and his group of intimates, Champfleury, already known to the 
reading public, Andre Thomas, the romance writer, Monselet, fresh 
looking and plump as an abbe of the lastcentury, Jean Journet, the chem- 
ist of Carcassonne, who had constituted himself the apostle of the ‘ phal- 
anstere, ’ Gustave Mathieu, the poet, Pierre Dupont, the bucolic song- 
ster, the strange but captivating Baudelaire, author of the Fleurs du Mai, 
Fauchery, who already handled the graver, whilst hoping to handle the 
pen, Gerard de Nerval, who related to us his travels in the East prior to 
writing them, the bibliophilist Asselineau, with his eternal white cravat, 
etc. We had also, though more rarely, a visit from M, Arsene Hous- 
saye. The editor of the Artiste did not sit down ; he only came to ask 
how the copy he had ordered from his young protegis, Champfleury, Mur- 
ger, and Monselet, was getting on. Nor must I forget on the list of those 
who have passed through the smoky temple of Momus, the painter Bon- 
vin,* the actor Rouvidre, who at that time was a pupil of Delacroix and 
went in for painting, and finally Privat d’Anglemont, the arch-Bohemian, 

“After a warm day spent over the old books on the quays Jean Wal- 
lon had hung up his drab cloth bookcase, that is to say, his greatcoat, 
on a peg in the cafe, and was sound asleep on a seat, stretched out in 
such a way that one of his legs did not touch the ground. I set to work 
to pull off his heavy and ill-fitting boot, and did so without awakening 
him. One of us took it, carried it away to the inner room and began to 
empty a w'ater-bottle into it. At that moment Wallon began to grunt as 
though his nap was coming to an end. The joker losing his head a lit- 
tle put the boot hastily down on the window-sill, so that it overbalanced 


* Eonvin, whose death is recorded while these sheets are passing through the press, 
was the son of a rural constable. After commencing life as an inspector of the market 
at Poissy, he studied painting. His works have often fetched high prices, but he never 
profited by them, as they were sold by him to picture dealers for very moderate sums. 
He was, indeed, always a poor artist, though two of his more celebrated paintings, 
“ Saying Grace” and “The Woman at the Well,” are hung in the Luxembourg Mu- 
seum. Last year (1886) Bonvin was in such poverty that in order to help him several 
artists organized a charity sale of artistic works, which was so productive that it pl.aced 
biro in comparatively easy circumstances. He was 71 years old when he died. 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


xvi 

and fell crashing through a sky-light on to a billiard table on the ground 
floor. Imagine the effect of this hydraulic boot and the shower of 
broken glass in the middle of a game. The staircase soon echoed with 
the hurried steps of the victims calling for vengeance. Momus, accom- 
panied by all his waiters, brought up the rear. Wallon suddenly awak- 
ened and with one bootless foot, was bewildered in presence of this irri- 
tated throng. The landlord held the boot and shook it with a threaten- 
ing air as Samson must have brandished the jawbone of the ass. We 
were fairly numerous, and hastened to form a rampart about our friend, 
asking to have the matter explained and offering, if necessary, to pay 
the damage. 

“ * But,’ exclaimed the landlord, ‘ tell us at least why ’ 

“ Without giving him time to finish his sentence, Tabar had the cool- 
ness to invent the story that Wallon was a somnambulist, that he had 
fancied he was putting his boot where he was in the habit of placing it 
every evening, and that it was very lucky that he had not gone further 
or he would have thrown himself out of the window thinking he was 
jumping into bed. 

‘“Did I do that?’ asked Wallon, still unbooted and heavy with 
sleep. 

“ ‘ Yes,’ we replied in chorus. Tabar then added that somnambulism 
never failed to punish hyperphysical philosophers for their hyperphysical 
philosophy. Then addressing Wallon he even persuaded him that he 
had been talking to his boot, calling it ‘old fellow,’ and making it par- 
take of refreshments after excusing himself for having made it so heated 
on the asphalt of the quays. Half satisfied with our explanation, or see- 
ing that they could only get paradoxical excuses from us, the invaders 
resignedly retraced their steps downstairs.” 

At that time not only in the Latin Quarter but throughout Paris, peo- 
ple hardly went to a cafe except to drink coffee. Beer was only known 
as a strange and accidental beverage. As to liqueurs of a supposedly ap- 
petizing character, they were but rarely seen, and were looked upon as 
potions only good for constitutions debilitated by a sojourn in Africa. 
I’unch and mulled wine were drunk in the latter part of the evening. 
The pipe now replaced by the cigarette was in high esteem; the students 
even made it an accessory to their costume, and when it was not in their 
mouths, they wore it in their buttonhole. 

The Cafe Momus was not the only haunt favoured by the Bohemians. 
Schanne says; “ We went preferentially to the Rotonde, at the western 
corner of the Rue Hautefeuille and the Rue de I’Ecole de Medecine 
When I say ‘we,’ I mean Murger and all those who willingly grouped 
themselves about him, posing unconsciously for the characters of the book 


MURGIR AND HIS WORK. 


xvii 


he was to write. It is even as well that it should be known that we 
never formed, like the Waterdrinkers, a club with rules and a constitu- 
tion. We saw one another frequently, and that was all. Every evening 
the same scene took place at this Cafe de la Rotonde, a real scene of 
Bohemian life. The first comer, at the waiter’s inquiry ‘ What will you 
lake, sir ? ’ never failed to reply ‘ Nothing just at present, 1 am waiting 
for a friend.’ The friend arrived, to be assailed by the brutal question 
‘ Have you any money ? ’ He would make a despairing gesture in the 
negative, and then added, loud enough to be heard by the dame du comp^ 
toir^ ‘By Jove, no, only fancy, I left my purse on my console-table* 
with gilt feet, in the purest Louise XV. style. Ah ! what a thing it is to 
be forgetful.’ He would sit down, and the waiter would wipe the table 
to appear as if he had something to do. A third would come who was 
sometimes able to reply ‘Yes, I have ten sous.’ 'Good,’ we would re- 
ply, ‘order a cup of coffee, a glass and a water-bottle; pay and give two 
sous to the waiter to secure his silence.’ This would be done. Others 
would come and take their place beside us, repeating to the waiter the 
same chorus, ‘ We are with this gentleman.’ Frequently we would be 
eight or nine at the same table and only one a customer. Whilst smok- 
ing and reading the papers we would, however, pass the glass and bottle. 
When the water began to run short, as on a ship in distress, one of us 
would have the impudence to call out ‘Waiter, some water,* The 
master of the establishment, who understood our situation, had no doubt 
given orders for us to be left alone, and made his fortune without our 
help. He was a good fellow and an intelligent one, having subscribed to 
all the scientific periodicals of Europe, which brought him the custom 
of foreign students. Murger, Leon Noel, Karol, Pifremann, Ganidol, 
Berger, Bazin and Privat d’Anglemont were usually present at these 
meagre festivities.” 

Turning from persons and places to incidents we find plenty of these 
scarcely exaggerated l)y the author. As for the scene of the borrowed 
swallow-tail, it was founded on fact, and indeed, Schanne’s account of 
it is almost as diverting as Murger’s. The hero was really a young fel- 
low named Esperance Blanchon, who had inherited from his father a 
respectable fortune gained as a pork-butcher. But let Schanne speak. 
“ Murger was sharing my studio in the Rue de la Harpe. One morn- 
ing we were trying to warm up some coffee with bits of lighted paper 
when there was a knock at the door. It was a young fellow, bearer of a 
letter of recommendation from a student friend of mine who had assured 
him that I was a good painter. He was, he told me, going on a long 
journey and did not want to start without leaving his portrait for his 
mother. He was between five-and-twenty and thirty, and was pitted 

2 


xviii 


MVRGER AND HIS WORK. 


with small-pox to such an extent that if a handful of peas had been thrown 
into his face not one would have fallen to the ground. Whilst he was 
taking a seat in the patient’s arm-chair I passed behind the rich tapestry 
masking my bed and th^ entrance of the garret that served as a kitchen. 
1 went to join Murger, who would, perhaps, have drunk all the coffee 
without me. We agreed that on returning to the studio I should make 
an eloquent patter speech to my client, and that at each pause in it Mur- 
ger, hidden behind the tapestry, should play on the tambourine. Ac- 
cordingly I returned to the scene of action with the words, ‘ Your lucky 
star did not deceive you, sir, when it guided your steps to this sanctuary 
of art. ’ ‘ Broum, broum, broum, ’ from Murger, who, faithful to our 

agreement, was strumming with wetted thumb on the parchment of his 
instrument. ‘ Pay no attention,’ I resumed; ‘ it is a poor friend of mine 
with a very bad cold who is amusing himself with reciting verses. You 
recognize Ponsard’s style. But learn that you are in the studio of the 
painter-in-ordinary to Queen Pomare, who is so much talked about just 
now.’ ‘Broum.’ ‘I am entrusted by her Majesty with the task of 
allegorically depicting seven theological virtues and not three, a number 
recognized as inadequate to equilibrize the seven deadly sins. ’ ‘ Broum, 

broum.’ ‘You see in what line I exercise my talents. If, therefore, you 
have not a pure conscience, a stainless soul, it will be useless to persist 
in your project of being painted by me. I would not guarantee the like- 
ness, and not even a vague family resemblance — you would turn my oil ! ’ 

Somewhat bewildered he replied, ‘ I will do my best to ’ * Broum, 

broum.’ ‘Is your friend no better?” he added. ‘No,’ I replied, 

‘ those verses from Lucrece are so chilly. But we are losing time in vain 
discourses ; let us seek a position suitable to a No. 20 canvas and that 
I can reproduce with my finest colours. The head a little less forward, 
if you please, more ease about the body. Please cast one of those looks 
that express all the joys of youth joined to those of a heart without re- 
morse. Look pleasant, confound it, or I won’t begin.’ 

“Murger now issued from his hiding-place and said, in his natural 
voice : ‘ The gentleman surely does not think of being painted in a tail- 
coat.’ ‘ Is it not the fashion ?’ ask Esperance Blanchon. I divined the 
need of a dress-coat felt by Murger to go and take tea that evening at an 
influential critic’s. We pleaded in favour of a frock-coat on account of 
the fuller folds of his draping. Murger offered his, which at once passed 
on to the gentleman’s back. This done, in the studio usually so noisy, 
nothing was heard but the scratching of the charcoal on the canvas. At 
half-past five the sun failed us. But it was important not to let Esper. 
ance Blanchon go, as he would have taken away his coat, so we kept him 
to dinner. He at first declined our gracious offer, which did not suit us ; 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


X X 


but he ended by accepting it on the express condition that he should find 
the money, and that in order to put us quite at our ease, the expense 
should be strictly confined to the sum represented by my day’s work. It 
was a payment already due and not an advance that he made. Murger 
spread himself round the town and returned with a caravan ot pastry- 
cooks, cooks and butlers bearing eatables and drinkables. He had also 
stuffed his pockets with several pounds of candles. It was, indeed, his 
mania and his luxury to give himself what he called a ‘feast of light.’ 
The forty francs of the Russian prince at the time when he received them 
passed away in a great measure in private illuminations. He who only 
worked at night, had none the less a passion for light, and light most in- 
tense, believing that to see clearly with the eyes added to the lucidity of 
the mind. We dined cheerfully, despite the scant supply of crockery, 
and dessert was farther enlivened by the expected arrival of Mimi and 
Phemie Teinturidre. Murger was still in a tail-coat as his frock continued 
to drape our young pork-butcher in his folds. He profited by this to 
slip away and go to the tea-party of the no less well furnished than in- 
fluential critic. I therefore remained with the task of amusing the 
guests, and above all, of gaining time, for from one moment to another 
Esperance might have a wish to go off, and how, in that case, was one to 
restore him his coat. Ten struck, and then eleven, and no Murger. 
My piano was of great assistance, and the ladies also devoted themselves; 
Mimi waltzed and Phemie sang. Still Murger did not return. Mid- 
night had struck and the bottles were empty. 

“ Happily my ‘Symphony on the Influence of Blue in Art’ was ready 
in my head and at the tips of my fingers, an excellent piece under the 
circumstances because it lasts long. I attacked the fragment of it entitled 
‘The Elephant’s March’ with copious verbal explanations, to which the 
young pork-butcher listened with amazement, the elephant being an in- 
comprehensible animal to him, unknown as it is in his trade. ‘ I begin,’ 
said I, ‘ by warning you that we are in C minor, a key with three flats. 
I do not spare flats to give you pleasure. How many avaricious com- 
posers would you not meet in life who would only put in one or two at 
most. But see what a picture. The elephants slowly advance, one, all 
white, at the head of them bearing under a magnificent dai's the corpse of 
the Indian maiden. The sun flames on the horizon ; it is hot, very hot. 
Here, to convey this idea, I pass into the major key as you would have 
been the first to advise me. However, the moon rises, and I return to 
the minor, it was self-evident. Do you now mark the hoarse voice of 
the tigers in the jungle ? do you also hear the Indian poet singing in 
verses of thirty-two feet the virtues of the young deceased ? It would be 
the oboe in a European orchestra that would be entrusted with this dis- 


XX 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


course. Here an uncle of the young girl blows his nose loudly ; unfor- 
tunately the exact note, which is found in the scale of the bassoon, does 
not exist on the piano. The elephants still advance, pan, pan, pan. But 
is not someone knocking at the door ? ’ I went and opened it. Murger 
at last. But the situation was not so difficult as might have been be- 
lieved, for Esperance Blanchon was in such a little hurry to leave us that 
he would not go away at all, and even asked leave to sleep on oiu: sofa. 

“ The next day I had to resume my brushes to again earn commer- 
cially a little festival that was in preparation. The same thing happened 
the following days. Only my model gave me a great deal of work and 
trouble, for under the influence of his libations the tint of his skin kept 
continually altering, passing from a kind of green inclining to violet to a 
sort of yellow tinged with grey. Hence the portrait scarcely advanced. 

‘ There are really months when one is not in working humour, ’ said I to 
Murger, who in his book has altered months to years. Finally Espe- 
rance, who had never laughed so much in his life, would not leave us. 
One saw that he was seeking to distract his thoughts. We asked our- 
selves during his brief absence whether a criminal was not concealed be- 
neath this lamb-like envelope. Some words that escaped him reassured 
us; he had lost one dear to him, a victim, through nursing him, of the 
terrible malady that had so disfigured him. 

“All this was very well, but a notice to quit in due form came from 
my landlord. My neighbour on the floor below, a lithographer, com- 
plained of no longer being able to go to sleep, and the door-keeper had 
backed up his protest. We had, therefore, two enemies to be revenged 
on. Espdrance Blanchon undertook to deal with the lithographer. He 
had the patience to copy off the bills, stuck up about the district, the 
names of everyone advertising for lost property. Then he wrote to them 
in terms something like this ; ‘ Sir (or Madam) you wish to recover your 
dog (or your parrot, your bracelet, &c.). You will find it at M. X.’s, 
lithographer, 50 Rue de la Harpe. Insist on having it back, for you will 
have to do with a man who, without being positively dishonest, will be- 
gin by saying he does not know what you mean. Yours, &c.’ The fol- 
lowing morning there was started at the lithographer’s a din of ringings 
at the bell and strong language which I cannot reproduce by any known 
method of typography. We might have complained in turn of a noise 
that hindered us from exercising our liberal professions, but we disdained 
such a mean revenge. As to the door-keeper I brought back from a 
country excursion a dozen hideous toads and let them loose in the court- 
yard at one in the morning. Then we lowered a sponge, saturated with 
alcohol and set on fire, at the end of a wire from our window on the fifth 
floor, and gave the door-keeper a sight of such a will-o’-the-wisp as is 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


XXI 


scarcely seen save at the opera in Robert the Devil. We heard a cry of 
terror as the lodge was lit up. In the morning Murger went down and 
asked Madam Cerberus whether she had any letters for him ? Without 
replying she told him how the house was haunted by ghosts who made 
punch at night and were not ashamed to get drunk with toads, adding 
that it was unbearable, and that he and his friends were lucky in having 
notice to leave. During the five weeks we remained there the lodge 
remained lit up all night. 

“But Esperance Blanchon had arrived at the last hour of pleasure that 
was to strike for him in this world. His portrait being finished was 
varnished, framed, packed and forwarded to his mother. He then left 
us, and hearing nothing more of him, after some time we made enquiries 
and learnt that he had written to a member of his family that he was to 
be looked for at the bottom of the pond at Plessis Piquet. Murger and I 
at once went to Plessis Piquet and saw Father Cens, the innkeeper. He 
had seen the poor fellow come along in a deluge of rain holding up an 
umbrella as though to protect Murger’s frock-coat, which he still wore. 
Father Cens thought, and rightly, that he recognized one of his custom- 
ers, and great was his surprise when he saw him, instead of turning 
to the left, resolutely walk into the pond with his umbrella still up. It 
was impossible to do anything in that deserted locality to hinder the sui. 
cide. Some days later a man-servant of his mother’s came and had the 
body placed in a coffin to be taken away to Normandy. Nothing more 
was ever known. But with all this Murger remained in a tail-coat, and 
was thus condemned to show himself in this ceremonious get-up under the 
most commonplace circumstances of life, such as buying four sous’ worth 
of tobacco or taking a cassis and water at Trousseville’s drinking-shop.’’ 

The incident of the piano has also some foundation . Schanne was 
living with the painter, Tony de Bergue, in the Rue du Petit Lion Sau- 
veur, when one day the commissary of police sent for him. An opposite 
neighbour, who was a Greek professor, had lodged a complaint about 
his piano playing. The commissary read the regulations, which may be 
just but are very severe, and told him that he was obliged to consider him 
as carrying on a “noisy calling.” He therefore duly warned him that 
his “noise” must not begin before daylight in winter, and six in the 
morning in summer, and must cease at ten at night. This was all very 
well, but the musician felt that he could not regale his enemy with such 
pieces as the Derniere Pensee de Weber. He resolved to worry him by 
practising nothing but scales. Tenacious in his rancour, he kept this up 
for months. Sometimes the exasperated professor would throw up his 
window and vociferate insults in Greek but without effect, and when 


xxii 


MURGER AND HIS WORK. 


Schanne decided to put an end to the infliction he found for his own part 
that his fingers had acquired an agility previously lacking to them. 

Nor is the desperate poverty in any way exaggerated. The sufferings 
of Murger and his fellows, especially of the Water-drinkers, are hardly to 
be imagined. In a work jointly written by three members of that 
society, Pierre Tournachon, better known as Nadar, Adrien Lelioux, and 
Leon Noel, some harrowing details are given. One poor fellow lived a 
week on some raw potatoes sent him up from the country by his mother, 
having no fire to cook them by, though his greatest suffering was having 
to eat them without salt. Another spent three days and three nights 
without food, whilst to do so for a couple of days was common. A third 
passed the bitter winter of 1838 without a shirt, and with only a blue 
cotton blouse, over his waistcoat. One night, clad like this, without 
having tasted food all day, and without a shelter for his head, he walked 
up and down between the Madeleine and the Bastile till he dropped ex- 
hausted in the snow and fell asleep. Karol really lodged, as Rodolphe is 
said to have done, in a tree in the Avenue de Saint Cloud, whilst Nada^ 
himself had to spend several days dressed as a Turk, being unable to 
redeem his own clothes, which he had pawned to obtain this costume for 
a fancy-ball. 

The programme of the celebrated fete has been several times more 
then rivalled by such passages as — 

“At midnight experiments in dissection on a voluntary subject. The 
future Dr. Nicol will demonstrate the utility of the liver. 

“ The matches will be found in the third gunpowder barrel to the left 
on the bottom shelf of the cupboard 

‘ ‘ Performers are requested to wipe their feet before playing on the 
piano. 

“ During the evening M. Alexandre Schanne will give an unconscious 
imitation of the actor Charles Perey in the part of Schaunard.” 


ORIGINAL PREFACE. 


The Bohemians of whom it is a question in this book have no connec- 
tion with the Bohemians whom melodramatists have rendered synony- 
mous with robbers and assassins. Neither are they recruited from 
among the dancing-bear leaders, sword swallowers, gilt watch-guard 
vendors, street lottery keepers and a thousand other vague and myste- 
rious professionals whose main business is to have no business at all, and 
who are always ready to turn their hands to anything except good. 

The class of Bohemians referred to in this book are not a race of to- 
day, they have existed in all climes and ages, and can claim an illustrious 
descent. In ancient Greece, to go no farther back in this genealogy, 
there existed a celebrated Bohemian, who lived from hand to mouth 
round about the fertile country of Ionia, eating the bread of charity, and 
halting in the evening to tune beside some hospitable hearth the har- 
monious lyre that had sung the loves of Helen and the fall of Troy. 
Descending the steps of time modern Bohemia finds ancestors at every 
artistic and literary epoch. In the Middle Ages it perpetuates the 
Homeric tradition with its minstrels and ballad makers, the children of 
the gay science, all the melodious vagabonds of Touraine. all the errant 
songsters who, with the beggar’s wallet and the trouvere’s harp slung at 
their backs, traversed, singing as they went, the plains of the beautiful 
lands where the eglantine of Clemence Isaure flourished. 

At the transitional period between the days of chivalry and the dawn 
of the Renaissance, Bohemia continues to stroll along all the highways 
of the kingdom, and already to some extent about the streets of Paris. 
There is Master Pierre Gringoire, friend of the vagrants and foe to fast- 
ing. Lean and famished as a man whose very existence is one long 
Lent, he lounges about the town, his nose in the air like a pointer’s, 
sniffling the odour from' kitchen and cook shop. His eyes glittering 
with covetous gluttony cause the hams hung outside the pork-butcher’s 
to shrink by merely looking at them, whilst he jingles in imagination — 
alas ! and not in his pockets — the ten crowns promised him by the 
ejhevins in payment of the pious and devout farce he has composed for 
the theatre in the hall of the Palais de Justice. Besides the doleful and 


XXIV 


ORIGINAL PREFACE. 


melancholy figure of the lover of Esmeralda, the chronicles of Bohemia 
can evoke a companion of less ascetic humour and more cheerful face — 
Master Francois Villon, the lover of “ la belle qui fut haultmire.” Poet 
and vagabond, par excellence, is this latter, and one whose poetry, full 
of imagination, is no doubt on account of those presentments which the 
ancients attribute to their vates, continually marked by a singular fore- 
boding of the gallows, on which the said Villon one day nearly swung in 
a hempen collar for having looked too closely at the colour of the king’s 
crowns. This same Villon, who more than once outran the watch started 
in his pursuit, this noisy guest at the dens of the Rue Pierre Lescot, this 
sponger at the court of the Duke of Egypt, this Salvator Rosa of poesy, 
has strung together elegies the heart-breaking sentiment and truthful ac- 
cents of which move the most pitiless and make them forget the ruffian* 
the vagabond and the debauchee, before this muse drowned in her own 
tears. 

Besides, amongst all those whose but little known work has only been 
familiar to men for whom French literature does not begin the day when 
“Malherbe came,” Fran9ois Villon has had the honour of being the most 
pillaged, even by the big- wigs of modern Parnassus. They threw them- 
selves upon the poor man’s field and coined glory from his humble 
treasure. There are ballads scribbled under a pent house at the street 
corner on a cold day by the Bohemian rhapsodist, stanzas improvised in 
the hovel in which the “ belle qui fut haultmire ” loosened her gilt girdle 
to all comers, which nowadays metamorphosed into dainty gallantries 
scented with musk and amber, figure in the armorial bearings enriched 
album of some aristocratic Chloris. 

But behold the grand century of the Renaissance opens, Michael 
Angelo ascends the scaffolds of the Sixtine Chapel and watches with 
anxious air young Raphael mounting the steps of the Vatican with the 
cartoon of the Loggie under his arm. Benvenuto Cellini is meditating 
his Perseus, Ghiberti is carving the Baptistery doors at the same time that 
Donatello is rearing his marbles on the bridges of the Arno; and whilst 
the city of the Medici is staking masterpieces against that of Leo X. and 
Julius II., Titian and Paul Veronese are rendering the home of the 
Doges illustrious. Saint Mark’s competes with Saint Peter’s. 

This fever of genius that had broken out suddenly in the Italian penin- 
sula with epidemic violence spreads its glorious contagion throughout 
Europe. Art, the rival of God, strides on, the equal of kings. Charles 
V. stoops to pick up Titian’s brush, and Francis I. dances attendance at 
the printing office where Etienne Dolet is perhaps correcting the proofs 
of “ Pantagruel.” 

Amidst this resurrection of intelligence, Bohemia continued as in the 


ORIGINAL PREFACE. 


XXV 


past to seek, according to Balzac’s expression, a bone and a kennel. 
Clement Marot, the familiar of the ante-chamber of the Louvre, became, 
even before she was a monarch’s mistress, the favorite of that fair Diana, 
whose smile lit up three reigns. From the boudoir of Diana de Poitiers, 
the faithless muse of the poet passed to that of Marguerite de Valois, a 
dangerous favour that Marot paid for by imprisonment. Almost at the 
same epoch another Bohemian, whose childhood on the shores of Sor- 
rento had been carressed by the kisses of an epic muse, Tasso, entered 
the court of the Duke of Ferrara as Marot had that of Francis I., but less 
fortunate than the lover of Diane and Marguerite, the author of “ Jerusa- 
lem Delivered” paid with his reason and the loss of his genius the 
audacity of his love for a daughter of the house of Este. 

The religious contests and political storms that marked the arrival of 
the Medicis in France did not check the soaring flight of art. At the 
moment when a ball struck on the scaffold of the Fontaine des Innocents 
Jean Goujon who had found the Pagan chisel of Phidias, Ronsard dis- 
covered the lyre of Pindar and founded, aided by his pleiad, the great 
French lyric school. To this school succeeded the re-action of Malherbe 
and his fellows, who sought to drive from the French tongue all the exotic 
graces that their predecessors had tried to nationalize on Parnassus. It 
was a Bohemian, Mathurin Regnier, who was one of the last defenders of 
the bulwarks of poetry, assailed by the phalanx of rhetoricians and gram- 
marians who declared Rabelais barbarous and Montaigne obscure. It 
was this same cynic, Mathurin Regnier, who, adding fresh knots to the 
satiric whip of Horace, exclaimed, in indignation at the manners of his 
day, “ Honour is an old saint past praying to.” 

The roll-call of Bohemia during the seventeenth century contains a 
portion of the names belonging to the literature of the reigns of Louis 
XIH. and Louis XIV., it reckons members amongst the wits of the Hotel 
Rambouillet, where it takes its share in the production of the “ Guirlande 
de Julie,” it has its entries in to the Palais Cardinal, where it collaborates, 
in the tragedy of “Marianne,” with the poet- minister who was the 
Robespierre of the monarchy. It bestrews the couch of Marion Delorme 
with madrigals, and woos Ninon de I’Enclos beneath the trees of the 
Place Royale; it breakfasts in the morning at the tavern of the Goinfres 
or the Epee Royale, and sups in the evening at the table of the Due de 
Joyeuse; it fights duels under a street lamp for the sonnet of Urania 
against the sonnet of Job. Bohemia makes love, war, and even diplomacy, 
and in its old days, weary of adventures, it turns the Old and New Testa- 
ment into poetry, figures on the list of benefices, and well nourished with 
fat prebendaryships, seats itself on an episcopal throne, or a chair of the 
Academy, founded by one of its children. 


XXVI 


ORIGINAL PREFACE. 


It was in tlie transition period between the sixteenth and the eighteenth 
centuries that appeared those two lofty geniuses, whom each of the nations 
amongst which they lived oppose to one another in their struggles of liter- 
ary rivalry, Moliere and Shakespeare, those illustrious Bohemians, whose 
fate was too nearly akin. 

The most celebrated names of the literature of the eighteenth century are 
also to be found in the archives of Bohemia, which, amongst the glorious 
ones of this epoch, can cite Jean Jacques Rousseau and d’Alembert, the 
foundling of the porch of Notre Dame and amongst the obscure, Mal- 
filatre and Gilbert, two over-rated reputations, for the inspiration of the 
one was but a faint reflection of the weak lyricism of Jean Baptiste Rous- 
seau, and the inspiration of the other but the blending of proud impotence 
with a hatred which had not even the excuse of initiative and sincerity, 
since it was only the paid instrument of party rancour. 

We close with this epoch this brief summary of Bohemia in different 
ages, a prolegomena besprinkled with illustrious names that we have pur- 
posely placed at the beginning of this work, to put the reader on his 
guard against any misapplication he might fall into on encountering the 
title of Bohemians ; long bestowed upon classes from which those whose 
manners and language we have striven to depict hold it an honour to 
differ. 

To-day, as of old, every man who enters on an artistic career, without 
any other means of livelihood than his art itself will be forced to walk in 
the paths of Bohemia. The greater number of our contemporaries who 
display the noblest blazonry of art have been Bohemians, and amidst 
their calm and prosperous glory they often recall, perhaps with regret, 
the time when, climbing the verdant slope of youth, they had no other 
fortune in the sunshine of their twenty years than courage, which is the 
virtue of the young, and hope, which is the wealth of the poor. 

For the uneasy reader, for the timorous citizen, for all those for whom 
an i can never be too plainly dotted in a definition, we repeat as an 
axiom; “Bohemia is a stage in artistic life; it is the preface to the 
Academy, the H6tel Dieu, or the Morgue.” 

We will add that Bohemia only exists and is only possible in Paris. 

Like all callings, Bohemia admits of different degrees, various species 
which are themselves subdivided, and of which it may not be useless to 
set forth the classification. 

We will begin with unknown Bohemians, the largest class. It is made 
up of the great family of poor artists, fatally condemned to the law of 
incognito, because they cannot or do not know how to obtain a scrap of 
publicity, to attest their existence in art, and by showing what they are 
already prove what they may some day become. They are the race of 


ORIGINAL PREFACE. 


xxvii 


obstinate dreamers for whom art has remained a faith and not a profes- 
sion ; enthusiastic folk of strong convictions, whom the sight of a master- 
piece is enough to throw into a fever, and whose loyal heart beats high 
in presence of all that is beautiful, without asking the name of the master 
and the school. This Bohemian is recruited from amongst those young 
fellows of whom it is said that they give great hopes, and from amongst 
those who realize the hopes given, but who, from carelessness, timidity, 
or ignorance of practical life, imagine that everything is done that can 
be when the work is completed, and wait for public admiration and for- 
tune to break in on them by escalade and burglary. They live, so to 
say, on the outskirts of life, in isolation and inertia. Petrified in art, they 
accept to the very letter the symbolism of the academical dithyrambic, 
which places an aureola about the heads of poets, and, persuaded that 
they are gleaming in their obscurity, wait for others to come and seek 
them out. We used to know a small school composed of men of this 
type, so strange, that one finds it hard to believe in their existence; they 
styled themselves the disciples of art for art’s sake. According to these 
simpletons, art for art’s sake consisted in deifying one another, in abstain- 
ing from helping chance, who did not even know their address, and in 
waiting for pedestals to come of their own accord aud place themselves 
under them. 

It is, as one sees, the ridiculousness of stoicism. Well, then, we again 
affirm, there exist in the heart of unknown Bohemia, similar beings 
whose poverty excites a sympathetic pity which common-sense obliges 
you to go back on, for if you quietly remark to them that we live in the 
nineteenth century, that the five-franc piece is the empress of humanity, 
and that boots do not drop ready blacked from heaven, they turn their 
backs on you and call you a tradesman. 

For the rest, they are logical in their mad heroism, they utter neither 
cries nor complainings, and passively undergo the obscure and rigorous 
fate they make for themselves. They die for the most part, decimated 
by that disease to which science does not dare give its real name, want. 
If they would, however, many could escape from this fatal denouement 
which suddenly terminates their life at an age when ordinary life is only 
beginning. It would suffice for that for them to make a few concessions 
to the stern laws of necessity ; for them to know how to duplicate their 
being, to have within themselves two natures, the poet ever dreaming on 
the lofty summits where the choir of inspired voices are warbling, and 
the man, worker-out of his life, able to knead his daily bread. But this 
duality which almost always exists amongst strongly tempered natures, 
of whom it is one of the distinctive characteristics, is not met with 
amongst the greater number of these young fellows, whom pride, a bas- 


XXViii ORIGINAL PREFACE. 

tard pride, has rendered invulnerable to all the advice of reason. Thus 
they die young, leaving sometimes behind them a work which the world 
admires later on and which it would no doubt have applauded sooner if 
it had not remained invisible. 

In artistic struggles it is almost the same as in war, the whole of the 
glory acquired falls to the leaders; the army shares as its reward the 
few lines in a despatch. As to the soldiers struck down in battle, they 
are buried where they fall, and one epitaph serves for twenty thousand 
dead. 

So, too, the crowd, which always has its eyes fixed on the rising sun, 
never lowers its glance towards that underground world where the 
obscure workers are struggling; their existence finishes unknown and 
without sometimes even having had the consolation of smiling at an ac. 
complished task, they depart from this life, enwrapped in a shroud of in- 
difference. 

There exists in ignored Bohemia another fraction ; it is composed of 
young fellows who have been deceived, or who have deceived themselves. 
They mistake a fancy for a vocation, and impelled by a homicidal fatality, 
they die, some the victims of a perpetual fit of pride, others worshippers 
of a chimera. 

The paths of art, so choked and so dangerous, are, despite encumber- 
ment and obstacles, day by day more crowded, and consequently Bohe- 
mians were never more numerous . 

If one sought out all the causes that have led to this influx, one might 
perhaps come across the following. 

Many young fellows have taken the declamations made on the subject 
of unfortunate poets and artists quite seriously. The names of Gilbert, 
Malfiiatre, Chatterton, and Moreau have been too often, too imprudently, 
and, above all, too uselessly uttered. The tomb of these unfortunates 
has been converted into a pulpit, from whence has been preached the 
martyrdom of art and poetry. 

“ Farewell mankind, ye stony-hearted host, 

Flint-bosomed earth and sun with frozen ray. 

From out amidst you, solitary ghost 
I glide unseen away.” 

This despairing song of Victor Escousse, stifled by the pride which had 
been implanted in him by a factitious triumph, was for a time the “ Mar- 
seillaise ” of the volunteers of art who were bent on inscribing their 
names on the martyrology of mediocrity. 

For these funereal apotheoses, these encomiastic requiems, having all 


ORIGINAL PREFACE. 


XXiX 


the attraction of the abyss for weak minds and ambitious vanities, many 
of these yielding to this attraction have thought that fatality was the half 
of genius; many have dreamt of the hospital bed on which Gilbert died, 
hoping that they would become poets, as he did a quarter of an hour be- 
fore dying, and believing that it was an obligatory stage in order to 
arrive at glory. 

Too much blame cannot be attached to these immortal falsehoods, 
these deadly paradoxes, which turn aside from the path in which they 
might have succeeded so many people who come to a wretched ending 
in a career in which they incommode those to whom a true vocation only 
gives the right of entering on it. 

It is these dangerous preachings, this useless posthumous exaltation, 
that have created the ridiculous race of the unappreciated, the whining 
poets whose muse has always red eyes and ill-combed locks, and all the 
mediocrities of impotence who, doomed to non -publication, call the muse 
a harsh stepmother, and art an executioner. 

All truly powerful minds have their word to say, and, indeed, utter it 
sooner or later. Genius or talent are not unforeseen accidents in human, 
ity; they have a cause of existence, and for that very reason cannot al- 
ways remain in obscurity, for, if the crowd does not come to seek them, 
they know how to reach it, Genius is the sun, every one sees it. Talent 
is the diamond that may for a long time remain hidden in obscurity, but 
which is always perceived by some one. It is, therefere, wrong to be 
moved to pity over the lamentations and stock phrases of that class of in- 
truders and inutilities entered upon an artistic career in spite of art itself, 
and who go to make up in Bohemia a class in which idleness, debauchery, 
and parasitism form the foundation of manners. 

Axiom, “Unknown Bohemianism is not a path, it is a blind alley.” 

Indeed, this life is something that does not lead to anything. It is a 
stultified wretchedness, amidst which intelligence dies out like a lamp in 
a place without air, in which the heart grows petrified in a fierce 
misanthropy, and in which the best natures become the worst. If one 
has the misfortune to remain too long and to advance too far in this blind 
alley one can no longer get out, or one emerges by dangerous breaches 
and only to fall into anadjacent Bohemia, the manners of which belong to 
another jurisdiction than that of literary physiology. 

We will also cite a singular variety of Bohemians who might be called 
amateurs. They are not the least curious. They find in Bohemian life 
an existence full of seductions, not to dine every day, to sleep in the open 
air on wet nights, and to dress in nankeen in the month of December 
seems to them the paradise of human felicity, and to enter it some aban- 
don the family home, and others the study which leads to an assured re- 


XXX 


ORIGINAL PREFACE. 


suit. They suddenly turn their backs upon an honourable future to seek 
the adventures of a hazardous career. But as the most robust cannot 
stand a mode of living that -would render Hercules consumptive, they 
soon give up the game, and, hastening back to their paternal roast joint, 
marry their little cousins, set up as a notary in a town of thirty thousand 
inhabitants, and by their fireside of an evening have the satisfaction of re- 
lating their artistic misery with the magniloquence of a traveller narrating 
a tiger hunt. Others persist and put their self-esteem in it, but when 
once they have exhausted those resources of credit which a young fellow 
with well-to-do relatives can always find, they are more wretched than 
the real Bohemians, who, never having had any other resources, have at 
least those of intelligence. We knew one of these amateur Bohemians 
who, after having remained three years in Bohemia and quarrelled with 
his family, died one morning, and was taken to the common grave in a 
pauper’s hearse. He had ten thousand francs a year. 

It is needless to say that these Bohemians have nothing whatever in 
common with art, and that they are the most obscure amongst the least 
known of ignored Bohemia. 

We now come to the real Bohemia, to that which forms, in part, the 
subject of this book. Those who compose it are really amongst those 
called by art, and have the chance of being also amongst its elect. This 
Bohemia, like the ofhers, bristles with perils, two abysses flank it on 
either side — poverty and doubt. But between these two gulfs there is at 
least a road leading to a goal which the Bohemians can see with their 
eyes, pending the time when they shall touch it with their hand. 

It is official Bohemia so-called because those who form part of it have 
publicly proved their existence, have signalized their presence in the 
world elsewhere than on a census list, have, to employ one of their own 
expressions, “their name in the bill,” who are known in the literary and 
artistic market, and whose products, bearing their stamp, are current 
there, at moderate rates it is true. 

To arrive at their goal, which is a settled one, all roads serve, and the 
Bohemians know how to profit by even the accidents of the route. Rain 
or dust, cloud or sunshine, nothing checks these bold adveiiturers, whose 
sins are backed by a virtue. Their mind is kept ever on the alert by their 
ambition, which sounds a charge in front and urges them to the assault 
of the future; incessantly at war with necessity, their invention always 
marching with lighted match blows up the obstacle almost before it in- 
commodes them. Their daily existence is a work of genius, a daily 
problem which they always succeed in solving by the aid of audacious 
mathematics. I'hey would have forced Harpagon to lend them money, 
and have found truffles on the raft of the “ Medusa.” At need, too, they 


ORIGINAL PREFACE. 


XXXI 


know how to practice abstinence with all the virtue of an anchorite, but if 
a slice of fortune falls into their hands you will see them at once mounted 
on the most ruinous fancies, loving the youngest and prettiest, drinking 
the oldest and best, and never finding sufficient windows to throw their 
money out of. Then, when their last crown is dead and buried, they 
begin to dine again at that table spread by chance, at which their place is 
always laid, and, preceded by a pack of tricks, go poaching on all the 
callings that have any connection with art, hunting from morn till night 
that wild beast called a five-franc piece. 

The Bohemians know everything and go everywhere, according as 
they have patent leather pumps or burst boots. They are to be met one 
day leaning against the mantel-shelf in a fashionable drawing-room, and 
the next seated in the arbour of some surburban dancing place. They 
cannot take ten steps on the Boulevard without meeting a friend, and 
thirty, no matter where, without encountering a creditor. 

Bohemians speak amongst themselves a special language borrowed 
from the conversation of the studios, the jargon of behind the scenes, and 
the discussions of the editor’s room. All the eclecticisms of style are met 
with in this unheard-of idiom, in which apocalyptic phrases jostle cock 
and bull stories, in which the rusticity of a popular saying is wedded to 
extravagant periods from the same mould in which Cyrano de Bergerac 
cast his tirades: in which the paradox, that spoilt child of modern liter- 
ature, treats reason as the pantaloon is treated in a pantomime; in which 
irony has the intensity of the strongest acids and the skill of those marks- 
men who can hit the bull’s-eye blindfold ; a slang intelligent, though un- 
intelligible to those who have not its key, and the audacity of which sur- 
passes that of the freest tongues. This Bohemian vocabulary is the hell 
of rhetoric and the paradise of neologism. 

Such is in brief that Bohemian life, badly known to the puritans of 
society, decried by the puritans of art, insulted by all the timorous and 
jealous mediocrities who cannot find enough of outcries, lies and calum- 
nies to drown the voices and the names of those who arrive through the 
vestibule to renown by harnessing audacity to their talent. 

A life of patience, of courage, in which one cannot fight unless clad in 
a strong armour of indifference impervious to the attacks of fools and the 
envious, in which one must not, if one would not stumble on the road, 
quit for a single moment that pride in oneself which serves as a leaning 
staff ; a charming and a terrible life, which has its conquerors and its 
martyrs, and on which one should not enter save in resigning oneself in 
advance to the pitiless law va victis. 


H.M. 



1 


4 ^ 


I 


\ 






V ' 


✓ - 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN 
QUARTER. 


CHAPTER I. 

HOW THE BOHEMIAN CLUB WAS FORMED. 

One morning — it was the eighth of April — Alexander 
Schaunard, who cultivated the two liberal arts of painting 
and music, was rudely awakened by the peal of a neigh- 
bouring cock, which served him for an alarm. 

“ By Jove ! ” exclaimed Schaunard, “ my feathered clock 
goes too fast : it cannot possibly be to-day yet ! So say- 
ing, he leaped precipitately out of a piece of furniture of his 
own ingenious contrivance, which, sustaining the part of 
bed by night, (sustaining it badly enough too,) did duty 
by day for all the rest of the furniture which was absent 
by reason of the severe cold for which the past winter had 
been noted. 

To protect himself against the biting north wind, 
Schaunard slipped on in haste a pink satin petticoat with 
spangled stars, which served him for a dressing-gown. 
This gay garment had been left at the artist’s lodging, one 
masked-ball night, by a Folie, who was fool enough to let 
herself be entrapped by the deceitful promises of Schaunard 
when, disguised as a marquis, he rattled in his pocket a 
seducingly sonorous dozen of crowns — theatrical money 
punched out of a lead plate and borrowed of a property- 


2 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

man. Having thus made his home toilette, the artist pro- 
ceeded to open his blind and window. A solar ray, like 
an arrow of light, flashed suddenly into the room, and 
compelled him to open his eyes that were still veiled by 
the mists of sleep. At the same moment the clock of a 
neighbouring church struck five. 

“ It is the Morn herself ! ” muttered Schaunard ; ‘ ‘ astonish- 
ing, but” — and he consulted an almanac nailed to the wall 
— “ not the less a mistake. The results of science affirm 
that at this season of the year the sun ought not to rise till 
half-past five : it is only five o’clock, and there he is ! A 
culpable excess of zeal ! The luminary is wrong ; I shall 
have to make a complaint to the longitude-office. How- 
ever, I must begin to be a little anxious. To-day is the 
day after yesterday, certainly ; and since yesterday was 
the seventh, unless old Saturn goes backward, it must be 
the eighth of April to-day. And if I may believe this paper, ” 
continued Schaunard, going to read an official notice-to- 
quit posted on the wall, “to-day, therefore, at twelve pre- 
cisely, I ought to have evacuated the premises, and paid 
into the hands of my landlord. Monsieur Bernard, the sum 
of seventy-five francs for three quarters’ rent due, which 
he demands of me in very bad handwriting. I had hoped 
— as I always do — that Providence would take the responsi- 
bility of discharging this debt, but it seems it hasn’t had 
time. Well, I have six hours before me yet. By making 
good use of them, perhaps — to work ! to work ! ” 

He was preparing to put on an overcoat, originally of a 
long-haired, wooly fabric, but now completely bald from 
age, when suddenly, as if bitten by a tarantula, he began 
to execute around the room a polka of his own composi- 
tion, which at the public balls had often caused him to be 
honoured with the particular attention of the police. 

“ By Jove ! ” he exclaimed, “ it is surprising how the 
morning air gives one ideas I It strikes me that I am on the 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


3 


scent of my air. Let’s see.’’ And, half-dressed as he was, 
Schaunard seated himself at his piano. After having 
waked the sleeping instrument by a terrific hurly-burly 
of notes, he began, talking to himself all the while, to 
hunt over the keys for the tune he had long been seeking. 

“ Zlo, sol, mi, do, la, si, do, re. Bah! it’s as false as 
Judas, that rel ” and he struck violently on the doubtful 
note. “We must represent adroitly the grief of a young 
person picking to pieces a white daisy over a blue lake 
There's an idea that’s not in its infancy I However, since 
it is the fashion, and you couldn’t find a music publisher 
who would dare to publish a ballad without a blue lake 
in it, we must go with the fashion. Do, sol, mi, do, la, si, 
do, re ! That’s not so bad ; it gives a fair idea of a daisy^ 
especially to people well up in botany. La, si, do, re. 
Confound that rel Now to make the blue lake intelligible. 
We should have something moist, azure, moonlight — for 
the moon comes in too; here it is ; don’t let’s forget the 
swan. Fa, mi, la, sol," continued Schaunard, rattling over 
the keys. “Lastly, the adieu of the young girl, who 
determines to throw herself into the blue lake, to rejoin 
her beloved who is buried under the snow. The catas- 
trophe is not very perspicuous, but decidedly interesting. 
We must have something tender, melancholy. It’s com- 
ing, it’s coming ! Here are a dozen bars crying like 
Magdalens, enough to split one’s heart — Brr, brr ! ” and 
Schaunard shivered in his spangled petticoat, “if it could 
only split one’s wood I There’s a beam in my alcove 
which bothers me a good deal when I have a company at 
dinner. I should like to make a fire with it — la, la, re, mi 
— for I feel my inspiration coming to me through the 
medium of a cold in the head. So much the worse, but 
it can’t be helped. Let us continue to drown our young 
girl ; ” and while his fingers assailed the trembling keys, 
Schaunard, with sparkling eyes and straining ears, gave 


4 


::flE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


chase to the melody which, like an impalpable sylph, 
hovered amid the sonorous mist which the vibrations of 
the instrument seemed to let loose in the room. 

Now let us see,'’ he continued, “ how my music will 
fit into my poet’s words ; ” and he hummed, in a voice the 
reverse of agreeable, this fragment of verse of the patent 
comic-opera sort : 

‘‘The fair and youthful maiden, 

As she flung her mantle by, 

Threw a glance with sorrow laden 
Up to the starry sky 

And in the azure waters 
Of the silver-waved lake — 

“How is that.?” he exclaimed, in transports of just in- 
dignation “the azure waters of a silver lake ! I didn’t see 
that. This poet is an idiot. I’ll bet he never saw a lake, 
or silver either. A stupid ballad too, in every way ; the 
length of the lines cramps the music. For the future I 
shall compose my verses myself ; and without waiting 
since I feel in the humour. I shall manufacture some 
couplets to adapt my melody to.” 

So saying, and taking his head between his hands, he 
assumed the grave attitude of a man who is having re- 
lations with the Muses. After a few minutes of this sacred 
intercourse, he had produced one of those strings of non- 
sense-verses which the /zZ>re//f-makers call, not without 
reason, monsters, and which they improvise very readily 
as a ground-work for the composer’s inspiration. Only 
Schaunard’s were no nonsense-verses, but very good sense, 
expressing with sufficient clearness the inquietude awak- 
ened in his mind by the rude arrival of that date, the eighth 
of April. 

Thus they ran ; 

** Eight and eightmake sixteen just, 

Put down six and carry one ^ 


THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN OUARTER. 


5 


My poor soul would be at rest 
Could I only find some one, 

Some honest poor relation, 

Who’d eight hundred francs advance, 

To pay each obligation, 

Whenever I’ve a chance. 

Chorus. 

“ And ere the clock on the last and fatal morning 
Should sound mid-day, 

To old Bernard, like a man who needs no warning, 

To old Bernard, like a man who needs no warning. 

To old Bernard, like a man who needs no warning, 

My rent I’d pay ! ” 

“The deuce ! ” exclaimed Schaunard, reading over his 
composition, “owe and some one — those rhymes are poor 
enough, but I have no time to make them richer. Now 
let us try how the notes will unite with the syllables.” 
And in his peculiarly frightful nasal tone he recommenced 
the execution of his ballad. Satisfied with the result he 
had just obtained, Schaunard congratulated himself with 
an exultant grimace, which mounted over his nose like a 
circumflex accent whenever he had occasion to be pleased 
with himself. But this triumphant happiness was destined 
to have no long duration. Eleven o'clock resounded from 
the neighbouring steeple. Every stroke diffused itself 
through the room in mocking sounds which seemed to 
say to the unlucky Schaunard, “Are you ready ? ” 

The artist bounded on his chair. “The time flies like 
a bird ! ” he exclaimed. “ I have but three-quarters of an 
hour left to find my seventy-five francs and my new 
lodging. I shall never get them ; that would be too much 
like magic. Let me see : I give myself five minutes to 
find out how to obtain them ; ” and burying his head 
between his knees, he descended into the depths of re- 
flection. 

The five minutes elapsed, and Schaunard raised his head 


6 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


without having found anything which resembled seventy- 
live francs. 

“ Decidedly, I have but one way of getting out Of this, 
which is simply to go away. It is fine weather, and my 
friend Monsieur Chance may be walking in the sun. He 
must give me hospitality till I have found the means of 
squaring off with Monsieur Bernard.'’ 

Plaving stuffed into the cellar-like pockets of his over- 
coat all the articles they would hold, Schaunard tied up 
some linen in a handkerchief, and took an affectionate 
farewell of his home. While crossing the court, he was 
suddenly stopped by the porter, who seemed to be on the 
watch for him. 

“ Hollo ! Monsieur Schaunard,'’ cried he, blocking up 
the artist’s way, “don’t you remember that this is the 
eighth of April ? ” 

“ Eight and eight make sixteen just, 

Put down six and carry one.” 

hummed Schaunard. “I don’t remember anything else.” 

“You are a little behindhand then with your moving,” 
said the porter ; it is half-past eleven, and the new tenant 
to whom your room has been let may come any minute. 
You must make haste.” 

“ Let me pass, then,” replied Schaunard ; “I am going 
after a cart. ” 

“ No doubt ; but before moving there is a little formality 
to be gone through. I have orders not to let you take 
away a hair unless you pay the three quarters due. Are 
you ready ? ” 

“ Why, of course,” said Schaunard, making a step for- 
ward. 

“Well, come into my lodge, then, and I will give you 
your receipt.” 

“ I shall take it when I come back.” 

“ But why not at once ? ” persisted the porter. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 7 

am goings to a money changer’s. I have no 
change.'" 

‘^\h, you are going to get change ! ” replied the other, 
not at all at his ease. “ Then I will take care of that little 
parcel under your arm, which might be in your way. " 

“ Monsieur Porter," exclaimed the artist, with a digni- 
fied air, “ you mistrust me, perhaps ! Do you think I am 
carrying away my furniture in a handkerchief? ” 

“ Excuse me," answered the porter, dropping his tono 
a little, “ but such are my orders. Monsieur Bernard has 
expressly charged me not to let you take away a hair be- 
fore you have paid." 

‘‘But look, will you? "said Schaunard, opening his 
bundle ; “these are not hairs, they are shirts, and I am 
taking them to my washerwoman, who lives next door to 
the money changer's twenty steps off. " 

“That alters the case," said the porter, after he had 
examined the contents of the bundle. “ Would it be im- 
polite, Monsieur Schaunard, to inquire your new address?" 

“Rue de Rivoli ! " replied the artist ; and having once 
got outside the gate, he made off as fast as possible. 

“ Rue de Rivoli ! " muttered the porter, scratching his 
nose ; “ifs very odd they should have let him lodgings 
in the Rue de Rivoli, and never even come here to ask 
abput him. Very odd, that. At any rate, he can’t carry 
off his furniture without paying. If only the new tenant 
don't come moving in just as Monsieur Schaunard is 
moving out ! That would make a nice mess ? Well, 
sure enough,” he exclaimed, suddenly putting his head 
out of his little window, “here he comes, the new tenant ! ” 

In fact, a young man in a white hat, followed by a 
porter who did not seem over-burthened by the weight 
of his load, had just entered the court. “Is my room 
ready?" he demanded of the house-porter, who had 
stepped out to meet him. 


8 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


“Not yet, sir, but it will be in a moment. The person 
who occupies it has gone after a cart for his things. 
Meanwhile, sir, you may put your furniture in the court." 

“ I am afraid it’s going to rain," replied the young man, 
chewing a bouquet of violets which he held in his mouth. 
“My furniture might be spoiled. My friend," continued 
he, turning to the man who was behind him, with some- 
thing on a truck which the porter could not exactly make 
out, “put that down, and go back to my old lodging to 
fetch the remaining valuables.” 

The man ranged along the wall several frames six or 
seven feet high, folded together, and apparently capable 
of being extended. 

“Look here," said the new-comer to his follower, half 
opening one of the screens and showing him a rent in 
the canvas, “ what an accident ! You have cracked my 
grand Venetian glass. Take more care on your second 
trip, especially with my library.” 

What does he mean by his Venetian glass ? ” muttered 
the porter, walking up and down with an uneasy air be- 
fore the frames ranged against the wall. “ I don’t see any 
glass. Some joke, no doubt. I only see a screen. We 
shall see, at any rate, what he will bring next trip.” 

“ Is your tenant not going to make room for me soon ? *’ 
inquired the young man ; “it is half-past twelve, and I 
want to move in.” 

“He won’t be much longer," answered the porter; 
“ but there is no harm done yet, since your furniture has 
not come,” added he, with a stress on the concluding 
words. 

As the young man was about to reply, a dragoon 
entered the court. 

‘ ‘ Is this Monsieur Bernard’s } ’’ he asked, drawing a 
letter from a huge leather portfolio which swung at his 
side. 


9 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

‘*He lives here,” replied the porter. 

Here is a letter for him,” said the dragoon ; give me 
a receipt ; ” and he handed to the porter a bulletin of 
despatches, which the latter entered his lodge to sign. 

“Excuse me for leaving you alone,” said he to the 
young man who was stalking impatiently about the 
court, “ but this is a letter from the Minister to my land’ 
lord, and I am going to take it up to him. ” 

Monsieur Bernard was just beginning to shave whe^ 
the porter knocked at his door. 

“ What do you want, Durand ? ” 

“Sir,” replied the other, lifting his cap, “ a soldier 
just brought this for you. It comes from the Ministry.'’ 
And he handed to Monsieur Bernard the letter, the enve- 
lope of which bore the stamp of the War Departm'^nt. 

“Heavens!” exclaimed Monsieur Bernard, in such 
agitation that he all but cut himself. “ From the Minister 
of War ! I am sure it is my nomination as Knight of the 
Legion of Honour, which I have so long solicited. At last 
they have done justice to my good conduct. Here, 
Durand,” said he, fumbling in his wmistcoat-pocket, 
“here are five francs to drink my health. Stay I I haven’t 
my purse about me. Wait, and I will give you the money 
in a moment.” 

The porter was so overcome by this stunning fit of 
generosity, which was not at all in accordance with his 
landlord's ordinary habits, that he absolutely put on his 
cap again. 

But Monsieur Bernard, who at any other time would 
have severely reprimanded this infraction of the laws of 
social hierarchy, appeared not to notice it. He put on 
his spectacles, broke the seal of the envelope with the 
respectful anxiety of a vizier receiving a sultan’s firman, 
and began to read the dispatch. At the first line a fright- 
ful grimace ploughed hia fat, monk-like cheeks with 


10 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

crimson furrows, and his little eyes flashed sparks that 
seemed ready to set fire to his bushy wig. In fact, all his 
features were so turned upside-down that you would have 
said his countenance had just suffered a shock of face- 
quake. 

For these were the contents of the letter bearing the 
ministerial stamp, brought by a dragoon-orderly, and for 
which Durand had given the government a receipt : 

“Friend landlord: Politeness — who, according to an- 
cient mythology, is the grandmother of good manners — 
compels me to inform you that I am under the cruel 
necessity of not conforming to the prevalent custom of 
paying rent — prevalent especially when the rent is due. 
Up to this morning I had cherished the hope of being able 
to celebrate this fair day by the payment of my three 
quarters. Vain chimera, bitter illusion ! While I was 
slumbering on the pillow of confidence, ill-luck — what the 
Greeks call ananke — was scattering my hopes. The re- 
turns on which I counted — times are so bad ! — have 
failed, and of the considerable sums which I was to re- 
ceive I have only realised three francs, which were lent 
me, and I will not insult you by the offer of them. Better 
days will come for our dear country and for me. Doubt 
it not, sir ! When they come, I shall fly to inform you of 
their arrival, and to withdraw from your lodgings the 
precious objects which I leave there, putting them under 
your protection and that of the law, which hinders you 
from selling them before the expiration of a year, in case 
you should be disposed to try to do so with the object of 
obtaining the sum for which you stand credited in the 
ledger of my honesty. I commend to your special care 
my piano, and also the large frame containing sixty locks 
of hair whose different colors run through the whole 
gamut of capillary shades : the scissors of love have 
stolen them from the forehead of the Graces. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 11 

‘^Therefore, dear sir, and landlord, you may dispose of 
the roof under which I have dwelt. I grant you full 
authority, and have hereto set my hand and seal. 

‘ ‘ Alexander Schaunard. ” 

On finishing this letter, (which the artist had written at 
the desk of a friend who was a clerk in the War Office, ) 
Monsieur Bernard indignantly crushed it in his hand, and 
as his glance fell on old Durand, who was waiting for the 
promised gratification, he roughly demanded what he was 
doing. 

“Waiting, sir.” 

“ For what? ” 

“For the present, on account of the good news,” 
stammered the porter. 

“Get out, you scoundrel ! Do you presume to speak 
to me with your cap on ? ” 

“ But, sir ” 

“ Don’t you answer me ! Get out ! No, stay there ! We 
shall go up to the room of that scamp of an artist who 
has run off without paying.” 

“ What ! Monsieur Schaunard ! ” ejaculated the porter. 

“Yes,” cried the landlord with increasing fury ; “ and 
if he has carried away the smallest article, I send you off, 
straight off ! ” 

“But it can’t be,” murmured the poor porter “ Mon- 
sieur Schaunard has not run away. He has gone to get 
change to pay you, and order a cart for his furniture.” 

“ A cart for his furniture ! ” exclaimed the other ; “run ! 
I am sure he has it here. He laid a trap to get you away 
from your lodge, fool that you are ! ” 

“Fool that I am ! Heaven help me !” cried the por- 
ter, all in a tremble before the thundering wrath of his 
superior, who hurried him down the stairs. When they 
arrived in the court the porter was hailed by the young 
man in the white hat. 


12 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


‘^Come, now ! am I not soon going to be put in pos- 
session of my lodging ? Is this the eighth of April ? Did 
I hire a room here and pay you a deposit to bind the bar- 
gain ? Yes or no ? " 

“ Excuse me, sir,'" interposed the landlord ; “I am at 
your service. Durand, I will talk to the gentleman my- 
self. Run up there ; that scamp Schaunard has come 
back to pack up. If you find him, shut him in, and then 
come down again and run for the police.” 

Old Durand vanished up the staircase. 

“Excuse me, sir,” continued the landlord, with a bow 
to the youn^ man now left alone with him ; “to whom 
have I the honor of speaking ” 

“Your new tenant. I have hired a room in the sixth 
story of this house, and am beginning to be tired of wait- 
ing for my lodging to become vacant. ” 

“ I am very sorry, indeed,” replied Monsieur Bernard ; 
“ there has been a little difficulty with one of my tenants ; 
the one whom you are to replace. ” 

“Sir,” cried old Durand from a window at the very top 
of the house, “ Monsieur Schaunard is not here, but his 
room — stupid ! — I mean he has carried nothing away, 
not a hair, sir ! ” 

“Very well ; come down,” replied the landlord. “ Have 
a little patience, I beg of you,” he continued to the young 
man. “My porter will bring down to the cellar the fur- 
niture in the room of my defaulting tenant, and you may 
take possession in half an hour. Beside, your furniture 
has not come yet.” 

“But it has,” answered the young man quietly. 

Monsieur Bernard looked around, and saw only the 
large screens which had already mystified his porter. 

‘ ‘ How is this ? ” he muttered. ‘ ‘ I don’t see anything. ” 

“Behold!” replied the youth, unfolding the leaves of 
the frame, and displaying to the view of the astonished 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


13 


landlord a magnificent interior of a palace, with jasper 
columns, basreliefs, and paintings of old masters. 

“ But your furniture? " demanded Monsieur Bernard. 

“ Here it is," replied the young man, pointing to the 
splendid furniture painted in the palace, which he had 
bought at a sale of second-hand theatrical decorations. 

I hope you have some more serious furniture than 
this,” said the landlord. '‘You know I must have 
security for my rent.” 

‘ ‘ The deuce ! is a palace not sufficient security for the 
rent of a garret ? ” 

“No, sir; I want real chairs and tables in solid 
mahogany.” 

“Alas! neither gold nor mahogany makes us happy, 
as the ancient poet well says. And I can’t bear mahogany : 
it’s too common a wood ; everybody has it.” 

“But surely, sir, you have some sort of furniture.” 

“ No, it takes up too much room. You are stuck full 
of chairs, and have no place to sit down.” 

“ But, at any rate, you have a bed. What do you sleep 
on ? ” 

“ On a good conscience, sir.” 

“Excuse me ; one more question,” said the landlord : 
“What is your profession? ” 

At this very moment the young man’s porter, returning 
on his second trip, entered the court. Among the articles 
with which his truck was loaded, an easel occupied a 
conspicuous position. 

“Sir! sir!” shrieked old Durand, pointing out the 
easel to his landlord, “it’s a painter ! ” ^ 

“ I was sure he was an artist ! ” exclaimed the land- 
lord in his turn, the hair of his wig standing up in affright ; 
a painter ! And you never inquired after this person,” 
he cohtinued to his porter ; “you didn’t know what he 
did ! ” 


14 THE bohemians OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

He gave me five iv2incs arnest” answered the poor 
fellow; “ how could I suspect ” 

“When you have finished/' put in the stranger 

“Sir,” replied Monsieur Bernard, mounting his spec- 
tacles with great decision, “since you have no furniture, 
you can’t come in. The law authorizes me to refuse a 
tenant who brings no security.” 

“And my word, then ? ” 

“ Your word is not furniture ; you must go somewhere 
else. Durand will give you back your earnest-money.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, dear ! ” exclaimed the porter, in consternation, 
“ I've put it in the Savings' Bank.*' 

“But consider, sir,” objected the young man, “I can't 
find another lodging in a moment ! At least grant me 
hospitality for a day. ” 

“Go to a hotel!” replied Monsieur Bernard. “By 
the way,” added he, struck with a sudden idea, “ if you 
like, I can let you a furnished room, the one you were to 
occupy, which has the furniture of my defaulting tenant 
in it. Only you know that when rooms are let this way, 
you pay in advance.” 

“Well,” said the artist, finding he could do no better, 
“I should like to know what you are going to ask me for 
your hole." 

“It is a very comfortable lodging, and the rent will be 
twenty-five francs a month, considering the circumstances, 
paid in advance.” 

“You have said that already ; the expression does not 
deserve being repeated,” said the young man, feeling in 
his pocket ‘ ‘ Have you change for five hundred francs } ” 

“ I beg your pardon,” quoth the astonished landlord. 

“ Five hundred, half a thousand : did you never see one 
before ? ” continued the artist, shaking the bank-note in 
the faces of the landlord and porter, who fairly lost their 
balance at the sight. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


15 


“You shall have it in a moment, sir,” said the now re- 
spectful owner of the house ; “there will only be twenty 
francs to take out, for Durand will return your deposit.” 

‘‘ He may keep it,” replied the artist, “on condition of 
coming every morning to tell me the day of the week and 
month, the quarter of the moon, the weather it is going 
to be, and the form of government we are under.” 

Old Durand described an angle of ninety degrees for- 
ward. 

“Yes, my good fellow, you shall serve me for an alma- 
nac. Meanwhile, help my porter to bring the things in.” 

“I shall send you your receipt immediately, said the 
landlord ; and that very night the painter Marcel was in- 
stalled in the lodging of the fugitive Schaunard. During 
this time the aforesaid Schaunard was beating his roll- 
call, as he styled it through the city. 

Schaunard had carried the art of borrowing to the per- 
fection of a science. Foreseeing the possible necessity of 
having to s/>oi7 the foreigners, he had learned how to ask 
for five francs in every language of the world. He had 
thoroughly studied all the stratagems which specie em- 
ploys to escape those who are hunting for it ; and knew, 
better than a pilot knows the hours of the tide, at what 
periods it was high or low water ; that is to say, on what 
days his friends and acquaintances were accustomed to 
be in funds. Accordingly, there were houses where his 
appearance of a morning made people say, not “ Here is 
Monsieur Schaunard,” but “ this is the first or the fif- 
teenth.”* To facilitate, and at the same time equalize this 
species of tax which he was going to levy, when com- 
pelled by necessity, from those who were able to pay it to 
him, Schaunard had drawn up by districts and streets an 
alphabetical table containing the names of all his acquain- 
tances. Opposite each name was inscribed the maximum 
♦ The French pay-days. — Transl. 


10 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


of the sum which the party’s finances authorized the 
artist to borrow of him, the time when he was flush, and 
his dinner-hour, as well as his usual bill of fare. Beside 
this table, he kept a book, in perfect order, on which he 
entered the sums lent him, down to the smallest fraction ; 
for he would never burthen himself beyond a certain 
amount which was within the fortune of a country relative, 
whose heir-apparent he was. As soon as he owed one 
person twenty francs, he closed the amount and paid him 
off, even if obliged to borrow for the purpose of those to 
whom he owed less. In this way he always kept up a 
certain credit which he called his floating debt ; and as 
people knew that he was accustomed to repay as soon as 
his means permitted him, those who could accommodate 
him were very ready to do so. 

But on the present occasion, from eleven in the morn- 
ing, when he had started to try and collect the seventy- 
five francs requisite, up to six in the afternoon, he had 
only raised three francs, contributed by three letters (M., 
V., and R.) of his famous list ; all the rest of the alphabet 
having, like himself, their quarter to pay, had adjourned 
his claim indefinitely. 

The clock of his stomach sounded the dinner-hour. He 
was then at the Maine barrier, where letter U lived. 
Schaunard mounted to letter U’s room, where he had a 
knife and fork, when there were such articles on the 
premises. 

“Where are you going, sir.?*” asked the porter, stopping 
him before he had completed his ascent. 

“To Monsieur U,” replied the artist. 

“ He’s out.” 

“And madame? ” 

“ Out too. They told me to say to a friend who was 
coming to see them this evening, that they were gone out 
to dine. In fact, if you are the gentleman they expected, 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN OUARTER. 17 

this is the address they left. ” It was a scrap of paper on 
which his friend U. had written, “We are gone to dine 

with Schaunard, No. — , Rue de . Come for us 

there." 

“Well," said he, going away, “accident does make 
queer farces sometimes." Then remembering that there 
was a little tavern near by, where he had more than once 
procured a meal at a not unreasonable rate, he directed 
his steps to this establishment, situated in the adjoining 
road, and known among the lowest class of artistdom as 
“ Mother Cadet’s.” It is a drinking-house which is also 
an eating-house, and its ordinary customers are carters of 
the Orleans railway, singing-ladies of Mont Parnasse, and 
juvenile “leads" from the Bobino theatre. During the 
warm season the students of the numerous painters 
studios which border on the Luxembourg, the unappre- 
ciated and unedited men of letters, the writers of leaders 
in mysterious newspapers, throng to dine at “Mother 
Cadet’s,” which is famous for its rabbit-stew, its veritable 
sour-crout, and a mild white wine which smacks of flint. 

Schaunard sat down in the grove; for so at “Mother 
Cadet’s " they called the scattered foliage of two or three 
rickety trees whose sickly boughs had been trained into a 
sort of arbour. 

“ Hang the expense ! " said Schaunard to himself, “I 
mean to have a good blow-out, a regular Belshazzar’s 
feast in private life ; ’’ and without more ado, he ordered 
a bowl of soup, half a plate of sour-crout, and two half 
stews, having observed that you get more for hvo halves 
than one whole one. ^ 

This extensive order attracted the attention of a young 
person in white with a head-dress of orange-flowers and 
ball-shoes ; a veil of sham imitation lace streamed down 
her shoulders, which she had no special reason to be 
proud of. She was a prima donna of the Mont Parnasse 


18 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


theatre, the green-room of which all but opens into 
Mother Cadet's kitchen ; she had come to take a meal be- 
tween two acts of Lucia, and was at that moment finish- 
ing with a small cup of coffee her dinner, composed ex- 
clusively of an artichoke seasoned with oil and vinegar. 

“ Two stews ! Deuce take it ! " said she, in an aside to 
the girl who acted as waiter at the establishment; “ that 
young man feeds himself well. How much do I owe, 
Adele?" 

“Artichoke four, coffee four, bread one: that makes 
nine sous.” 

“ There they are,” said the singer: and off she went 
humming : 

“ This affection Heaven has given.” 

“ Why, she is giving us the lat ” exclaimed a mysterious 
personage half hidden behind a rampart of old books, who 
was seated at the same table with Schaunard. 

* 'Giving it 1 ” replied the other: "keeping it, I should 
say. Just imagine ; ” he added, pointing to the vinegar on 
the plate from which Lucia had been eating her artichoke ; 
“ pickling that falsetto of hers 1 ” 

“ It is a strong acid, to be sure,” added the personage 
who had first spoken. “ They make some at Orleans 
which has deservedly a great reputation. ” 

Schaunard carefully examined this individual, who was 
thus fishing for a conversation with him. The fixed stare 
of his large blue eyes, which always seemed looking for 
something, gave his features that character of happy tran- 
quillity which is common among theological students. 
His face had a uniform tint of old ivory, except his cheeks, 
which had a coat, as it were, ofbrickdust. His mouth 
seemed to have been sketched by a student in the rudi- 
ments of drawing, whose elbow had been jogged while 
he was tracing it. His lips, which pouted almost like a 
negro’s, disclosed teeth not unlike a stag-hound’s ; and 


Might I be 80 bold as to beg you, sir, to share this with me? 




THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


19 


his double-chin reposed itself upon a white cravat, one of 
whose points threatened the stars, while the other was 
ready to pierce the ground. A torrent of light hair es- 
caped from under the enormous brim of his well-worn 
felt-hat. He wore a hazel-coloured overcoat with a large 
cape, worn thread-bare and rough as a grater ; from its 
yawning pockets peeped bundles of manuscripts and 
pamphlets. The enjoyment of his sour-crout, which he 
devoured with numerous and audible marks of approba- 
tion, rendered him heedless of the scrutiny to which he 
was subjected, but did not prevent him from continuing 
to read an old book open before him, in which he made 
marginal notes from time to time with a pencil that he 
carried behind his ear. 

“ Hullo ! " cried Schaunard suddenly, making his glass 
ring with his knife, “ my stew ! ” 

‘‘Sir,” said the girl, running up plate in hand, “ there 
is none left ; here is the last, and this gentleman has or- 
dered it.” Therewith she deposited the dish before the 
man with the books. 

“The deuce ! ” cried Schaunard. There was such an 
air of melancholy disappointment in his ejaculation, that 
the possessor of the books was moved to the soul by 
it. He broke down the pile of old works which formed a 
barrier between him and Schaunard, and putting the dish 
in the centre of the table, said, in his sweetest tones : 

“ Might I be so bold as to beg you, sir, to share this 
with me ? ” 

“ Sir,” replied the artist, “ I could not think of depriv- 
ing you of it. ” 

“ Then will you deprive me of the pleasure of being 
agreeable to you ? ” 

“ If you insist, sir,” and Schaunard held out his plate. 

“ Permit me no/ to give you the head,” said the 
stranger. 


20 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


“ Really, sir, I cannot allow you,'’ Schaunard began ; 
but on taking back his plate he perceived that the other 
had given him the very piece which he implied he would 
keep for himself. 

“ What is he playing off his politeness on me for? ” he 
muttered to himself. 

“ If the head is the most noble part of man," said the 
stranger, it is the least agreeable part of the rabbit. 
There are many persons who cannot bear it. I happen 
to like it very much, however." 

“ If so," said Schaunard, I regret exceedingly that 
you robbed yourself for me." 

“How ? Excuse me," quoth he of the books ; “/kept 
the head, as I had the honour of observing to you." 

“Allow me," rejoined Schaunard, thrusting his plate 
under his nose ; “what part do you call that ? " 

“ Good heavens ! " cried the stranger, “ what do I see ? 
Another head? It is a bicephalous rabbit 1 " 

“Buy what said Schaunard. 

*‘Cephalous — comes from the Greek. In fact, Buffon 
(who used to wear ruffles) cites some cases of this mon- 
strosity. On the whole, I am not sorry to have eaten a 
phenomenon." 

Thanks to this incident, the conversation was definitely 
established. Schaunard, not willing to be behindhand in 
courtesy, called for an extra quart of wine. The hero of 
the books called for a third. Schaunard treated to salad ; 
the other to dessert. At eight o’clock there were six 
empty bottles on the table. As they talked, their natural 
frankness, assisted by their libations, had urged them to 
interchange biographies, and they knew each other as 
well as if they had always lived together. He of the books, 
after hearing the confidential disclosures of Schaunard, 
had informed him that his name was Gustave Colline ; he 
was a philosopher by profession, and got his living by 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 21 

giving lessons in rhetoric, mathematics and several other 

ICS. 

What little money he picked up by this profession was 
spent in buying books. His hazel-coloured coat was 
known to all the stall-keepers on the quay from the Pont 
de la Concorde to the Pont Saint Michel. What he did 
with these books, so numerous that no man's lifetime 
would have been long enough to read them, nobody 
knew ; least of all, himself. But this hobby of his 
amounted to a monomania : when he came home at 
night without bringing a musty quarto with him, he 
would repeat the saying of Titus, “I have lost a day." 
His enticing manners, his language, which was a mosaic 
of every possible style, and the fearful puns which em- 
bellished his conversation, completely won Schaunard, 
who demanded on the spot permission of Colline to add 
his name to those on the famous list already mentioned. 

They left Mother Cadet's at nine o'clock at night, both 
fairly primed, and with the gait of men who have been 
engaged in close conversation with sundry bottles. 

Colline offered to stand coffee, and Schaunard accepted 
on condition that he should be allowed to pay for the 
accompanying nips of liquor. They turned into a cafe 
in the Rue Saint Germain I’Auxerrois, and bearing on its 
sign the name of Mornus, god of play and pleasure. 

At the moment they entered a lively argument broke 
out between two of the frequenters of the place. One of 
them was a young fellow whose face was hidden by a 
dense thicket of beard of several distinct shades. By 
way of a balance to this wealth of hair on his chin, a 
precocious baldness had despoiled his forehead, which 
was as bare as a billiard-ball. He vainly strove to con- 
ceal the nakedness of the land by brushing forward a tuft 
of hairs so scanty that they could almost be counted. He 
wore a black coat worn at the elbows, and revealing 


22 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

whenever he raised his arm too high a ventilator under 
the armpits. His trousers might have once been black, 
but his boots, which had never been new, seemed to have 
already gone round the world two or three times on the 
feet of the Wandering Jew. 

Schaunard noticed that his new friend Colline and the 
young fellow with the big beard nodded to one another. 

You know the gentleman ? ” said he to the philoso- 
pher. 

“Not exactly,” replied the latter, “but I meet him 
sometimes at the National Library. I believe that he is a 
literary man.” 

“He wears the garb of one, at any rate,” said Schau- 
nard. 

The individual with whom this young fellow was argu- 
ing was a man of forty, foredoomed, by a big head wed- 
ged between his shoulders without any break in the shape 
of a neck, to the thunderstroke of apoplexy. Idiocy was 
written in capital letters on his low forehead, surmounted 
by a little black skull-cap. His name was Monsieur 
Mouton, and he was a clerk at the town hall of the 4th 
Arrondissement, where he acted as registrar of deaths. 

“Monsieur Rodolphe,” exclaimed he, in the squeaky 
tones of a eunuch, shaking the young fellow by a button 
of his coat which he had laid hold of. “ Do you want to 
know my opinion ? Well, all your newspapers are of no 
use whatever. Come, now, let us put a supposititious 
case. I am the father of a family, am I not ? Good. I 
go to the cafe for a game at dominoes ? Follow my 
argument now.” 

“Go on,” said Rodolphe. 

“Well,” continued Daddy Mouton, punctuating each 
of his sentences by a blow with his fist which made the 
jugs and glasses on the table rattle again. '‘Well, I 
come across the papers. What do I see ? One which 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAIITER. 


23 


says black when the other says white, and so on and so 
on. What is all that to me? I am the father of a family 
who goes to the cafe ” 

“ For a game at dominoes,” said Rodolphe. 

“ Every evening,’' continued Monsieur Mouton. Well, 
to put a case — you understand ? ” 

“Exactly,” observed Rodolphe. 

“ I read an article which is not according to my views. 
That puts me in a rage, and I fret my heart out, because, 
you see, Monsieur Rodolphe, newspapers are all lies. 
Yes, lies,” he screeched in his shrillest falsetto, “and 
the journalists are robbers.” 

“ But, Monsieur Mouton ” 

“Yes, brigands,” continued the clerk. “They are 
the cause of all our misfortunes ; they brought about the 
Revolution and its paper money, witness Murat.” 

“ Excuse me,” said Rodolphe, “ you mean Marat.” 

“No, no,” resumed Monsieur Mouton ; “Murat, fori 

saw his funeral when I was quite a child ” 

But I assure you ” 

* ‘ They even brought out a piece at the Circus about 
him, so there.” 

“Exactly,” said Rodolphe, “ that was Murat.” 

“Well, what else have I been saying for an hour 
past? ” exclaimed the obstinate Mouton. “Murat, who 
used to work in a cellar, eh ? Well, to put a case. Were 
not the Bourbons right to guillotine him, since he had 
played the traitor ? ” 

“ Guillotine who ? Play the traitor to whom?” cried 
Rodolphe, button-holing Monsieur Mouton in turn. 

“Why, Marat.” 

“No, no. Monsieur Mouton. Murat, let us understand 
one another, hang it all ! ” 

“Precisely, Marat, a scoundrel. He betrayed the 
Emperor in 1815. That is why I say all the papers are 


24 THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUARTER. 

alike, continued Monsieur Mouton, returning to the orig- 
inal theme of what he called an explanation. *'Do you 
know what I should like, Monsieur Rodolphe ? Well, 
to put a case. I should like a good paper. Ah ! not too 
large and not stuffed with phrases.'* 

“You are exacting," interrupted Rodolphe : “a news- 
paper without phrases ! " 

“ Yes, certainly. Follow my idea ? ” 

“I am trying to.” 

“A paper which should simply give the state of the 
King s health and of the crops. For after all, what is the 
use of all your papers that no one can understand ? To 
put a case. I am at the town hall, am I not? I keep my 
books; very good. Well, it is just as if someone came to 
me and said, ' Monsieur Mouton, you enter the deaths — 
well, do this, do that.’ What do you mean by this and 
that ? Well, it is the same thing with newspapers," he 
woundup with. 

“Evidently,” said a neighbor who had understood. 

And Monsieur Mouton having received the congratula- 
tions of some of the other frequenters of the cafe who 
shared his opinion, resumed his game at dominoes. 

“I have taught him his place,” said he, indicating 
Rodolphe, who had returned to the same table at which 
Schaunard and Colline were seated. 

“What a blockhead ! ” said Rodolphe to the two young 
fellows. 

“He has a fine head, with his eyelids like the hood of a 
cabriolet, and his eyes like glass marbles, "said Schaunard, 
pulling out a wonderfully colored pipe. 

“By Jupiter, sir,” said Rodolphe, “ that is a very pretty 
pipe of yours.” 

“Oh! I have a much finer one I wear in society,” 
replied Schaunard carelessly. “Pass me some tobacco, 
Colline.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 26 

** Hullo ! ” said the philosopher, I have none left.^* 

“Allow me to offer you some,’’ observed Rodolphe, 
pulling a packet of tobacco out of his pocket and placing 
it on the table. 

To this civility Colline thought it his duty to respond by 
an offer of glasses round. 

Rodolphe accepted. The conversation turned on litera- 
ture. Rodolphe, questioned as to the profession already 
revealed by his garb, confessed his relation with the 
Muses, and stood a second round of drinks. As the waiter 
was going off with the bottle Schaunard requested him to 
be good enough to forget it. He had heard the silvery 
tinkle of a couple of five-franc pieces in one of Colline’s 
pockets. Rodolphe had soon reached the same level of 
expansiveness as the two friends, and poured out his con- 
fidences in turn. 

They would no doubt have passed the night at the cafe 
if they had not been requested to leave. They had not 
gone ten steps, which it had taken them a quarter of an 
hour to accomplish, before they were surprised by a 
violent downpour. Colline and Rodolphe lived at oppo- 
site ends of Paris, one on the He Saint Louis, and the 
other at Montmartre. 

Schaunard, who had wholly forgotten that he was with- 
out a residence, offered them hospitality. 

“Come to my place,” said he; “I live close by ; we 
will pass the night in discussing literature and art.” 

“You shall play and Rodolphe will recite some of his 
verses to us,” said Colline. 

“Right you are,” said Schaunard ; “life is short, and 
we must enjoy ourselves whilst we can.” 

Arriving at the house, which Schaunard had some diffi- 
culty in recognising, he sat down for a moment on a 
corner-post waiting for Rodolphe and Colline, who had 
gone into a wine shop that was still open to obtain the 


26 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

primary elements of a supper. When they came back, 
Schaunard rapped several times at the door, for he vaguely 
recollected that the porter had a habit of keeping him 
'Waiting. The door at length opened, and old Durand, 
half aroused from his first sleep, and no longer recalling 
that Schaunard had ceased to be his tenant, did not disturb 
himself when the latter called out his name to him. 

When they had all three gained the top of the stairs, the 
ascent of which had been as lengthy as it was difficult, 
Schaunard, who was the foremost, uttered aery of astonish- 
ment at finding the key in the keyhole of his door. 

‘ ‘ What is the matter ? ” asked Rodolphe. 

“ I cannot make it out,” muttered the other. ‘‘ I find 
the key in the door, though I took it away with me this 
morning. Ah ! we shall just see. I put it in my pocket. 
Why, confound it, here it is still ! ” he exclaimed, display- 
ing a key. “This is witchcraft.” 

“Phantasmagoria,” said Colline. 

“Fancy,” added Rodolphe. 

“But,” resumed Schaunard, whose voice betrayed a 
commencement of alarm, “ do you hear that? ” 

“What?'" 

“What?” 

“My piano, which is playing of its own accord do la 
mire do, la si sol re. Scoundrel of a re, it is still false.” 

“But it cannot be in your room,' said Rodolphe ; and 
he added in a whisper to Colline, against whom he was 
leaning heavily, “he is tight.” 

“So I think. In the first place, it is not a piano at all, 
it is a flute. ” 

“But you are screwed too, my dear fellow,” observed 
the poet to the philosopher, who had sat down on the 
landing, “it is a violin.” 

“A vio , pooh ! I say, Schaunard,” hiccupped Col- 

line, pulling his friend by the legs, “here is a joke ; this 
gentleman makes out that it is a vio ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 27 

Hang it all,” exclaimed Schaunard in the height of 
terror, “ it is magic.” 

“Phantasma — goria,” howled Colline, letting fall one 
of the bottles he held in his hand. 

“Fancy,” yelled Rodolphe in turn. 

In the midst of this uproar the room door suddenly 
opened, and an individual holding a triple-branched candle- 
stick in which pink candles were burning, appeared on 
the threshold. 

“What do you want, gentlemen ?” asked he, bowing 
courteously to the three friends. 

“Good heavens, what am I about? I have made a 
mistake, this is not my room,” said Schaunard. 

“Sir,” added Colline and Rodolphe, simultaneously ad- 
dressing the person who had opened the door, “be good 
enough to excuse our friend, he is as drunk as three 
fiddlers.” 

Suddenly a gleam of lucidity flashed through Schau- 
nard’s intoxication; he read on his door these words, writ- 
ten in chalk : 

“I have called three times for my New Year’s gift. — 
Phemie.” 

“ But it is all right, it is all right, I am indeed at home,” 
he exclaimed ; “here is the visiting card Phemie left me 
on New Year’s Day ; it is really my door.” 

“ Good heavens, sir,” said Rodolphe, “ I am truly be- 
wildered. ” 

“ Believe me, sir,” added Colline, “that for my part I 
am an active partner in my friend’s confusion. ” 

The young fellow who had opened the door could not 
help laughing. 

“ If you will come into my room for a moment,” he 
replied, “ no doubt your friend, as soon as he has looked 
round, will see his mistake. ” 

“Willingly.” 


28 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

And the poet and philosopher each taking Schaun- 
ard by an arm, led him into the room, or rather the palace 
of Marcel, whom no doubt our readers have recognized. 

Schaunard cast his eyes vaguely about him, murmuring, 
“ It is astonishing how my dwelling is embellished !” 

‘‘Well, are you satisfied now ?” asked Colline. 

But Schaunard having noticed the piano had gone to it, 
and was playing scales. 

“ Here, you fellows, listen to this,” said he, striking the 
notes ; “ that is something like, the animal has recognised 
his master, si la sol, fa mi re. Ah ! wretched re, you are 
always the same. I told you it was my instrument.” 

“ He insists on it,” said Colline to Rodolphe. 

“ He insists on it,” repeated Rodolphe to Marcel. 

“And that,” added Schaunard, pointing to the star- 
adorned petticoat that was lying on a chair, “it is not an 
adornment of mine, perhaps } Ah ! ” 

And he looked Marcel straight in the face. 

“ And this,” continued he, unfastening from the wall 
the notice to quit already spoken of. 

And he began to read, “Therefore Monsieur Schaunard 
is hereby required to give up possession of the said prem- 
ises, and to leave them in tenantable repair, before noon 
on the eighth day of April. As witness the present formal 
notice to quit, the cost of which is five francs.” “Ha! 
ha I so I am not the Monsieur Schaunard to whom formal 
notice to quit is given at a cost of five francs ? And 
these, again,” he continued, recognising his slippers on 
Marcel’s feet, “ are not those my papouches, the gift of a 
beloved hand? It is your turn, sir,” said he to Marcel, 
“ to explain your presence amongst my household gods.” 

“Gentlemen,” replied Marcel, addressing himself more 
especially to Colline and Rodolphe, “this gentleman,” 
and he pointed to Schaunard, “is at home, I admit,” 

“Ah 1 " exclaimed Schaunard, “ that's lucky.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 29 

“ But,” continued Marcel, I am at home too.” 

“But, sir,” broke in Rodolphe, “if our friend recog- 
nises ” 

“ Yes,” said Colline, “ if our friend ” 

“And if on your side you recall that added 

Rodolphe ; “how is it that ” 

“Yes,” repeated his echo Colline, “how is it that ” 

“Have the kindness to sit down, gentlemen,” replied 
Marcel, “and I will explain the mystery to you.” 

“If we were to liquify the explanation ? ” risked Colline. 

“Over a mouthful of something,” added Rodolphe. 

The four young fellows sat down to table and attacked 
a piece of cold veal which the wine-shop keeper had let 
them have. 

Marcel then explained what had taken place in the 
morning between himself and the landlord when he had 
come to move in. 

“ Then,” observed Rodolphe, “this gentleman is quite 
right, and we are in his place ? ” 

“You are at home,” said Marcel politely. 

But it was a tremendous task to make Schaunard under- 
stand what had taken place. A comical incident served 
to further complicate the situation. Schaunard, when 
looking for something in a sideboard, found the change of 
the five hundred franc note that Marcel had handed to 
Monsieur Bernard that morning. 

“ Ah 1 I was quite sure,” he exclaimed, “that Fortune 
would not desert me. I remember now that I went out 
this morning to run after her. On account of its being 
quarter-day she must have looked in during my absence. 
We crossed one another on the way, that is it How 
right I was to leave the key in my drawer I ” 

“ Delightful madness I ” murmured Rodolphe, looking 
at Schaunard, who was building up the money in equal 
piles. 


30 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

‘‘A dream, a falsehood, such is life," added the 
philosopher. 

Marcel laughed. 

An hour later they had all four fallen asleep. 

The next day they woke up at noon, and at first seemed 
very much surprised to find themselves together. Schau- 
nard, Colline, and Rodolphe did not appear to recognise 
one another, and addressed one another as “sir." Marcel 
had to remind them that they had come together the even- 
ing before. 

At that moment old Durand entered the room. 

“Sir," said he to Marcel, “it is the month of April, 
eighteen hundred and forty, there is mud in the streets, 
and His Majesty Louis-Philippe is still King of France 
and Navarre. What ! " exclaimed the porter on seeing 
his former tenant, “ Monsieur Schaunard, how did you 
come here ? " 

“By the telegraph,” replied Schaunard. 

“Ah ! " replied the porter, “ you are still a joker " 

“Durand," said Marcel, “I do not like subordinates 
mingling in conversation with me ; go to the nearest 
restaurant and have a breakfast for four sent up. Here is 
the bill of fare," he added, handing him a slip of paper on 
which he had written it. ‘ ‘ Go. ” 

“Gentlemen," continued Marcel, addressing the throe 
young fellows, “you invited me to supper last night; 
allow me to offer you a breakfast this morning, not in my 
room, but in ours," he added, holding out his hand to 
Schaunard. 

At the close of the repast Rodolphe asked permission 
to speak. 

“Gentlemen,” said he, “ allow me to leave you.” 

“Oh! no,” said Schaunard sentimentally, “let us 
never leave one another. ” 

“That's right, we are very comfortable here,” added 
Colline. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 31 

“To leave you for a moment,” continued Rodolphe. 
“ To-morrow the ‘Scarf of Iris,’ a fashion paper of which 
I am editor, appears, and I must go and correct my 
proofs ; I will be back in an hour.” 

“The deuce ! ” said Colline ; “ that reminds me that I 
have a lesson to give to an Indian prince who has come 
to Paris to learn Arabic.” 

“Go to-morrow,” said Marcel. 

“Oh ! no,” said the philosopher, “the prince is to pay 
me to-day. And then I must acknowledge to you that 
this auspicious day would be spoilt for me if I did not 
take a stroll amongst the bookstalls.” 

“ But you will come back ? ” said Schaunard. 

“With the swiftness of an arrow launched by a steady 
hand,” replied the philosopher, who loved eccentric 
imagery. 

And he went out with Rodolphe. 

“In point of fact,” said Schaunard when left alone 
with Marcel, “instead of lolling on the sybarite’s pillow, 
suppose I was to go out to seek some gold to appease the 
cupidity of Monsieur Bernard ? ” 

“Then,” said Marcel uneasily, “you still mean to 
move. ” 

“Hang it,” replied Schaunard, “I must, since I have 
received a formal notice to quit, at a cost of five francs. ” 

“But,” said Marcel, “if you move, shall you take your 
furniture with you ? ” 

“ I have that idea. I will not leave a hair, as Monsieur 
Bernard says.” 

“The deuce! That will be very awkward for me,” 
said Marcel, “since I have hired your room furnished.” 

“There, now, that’s so,” replied Schaunard. “Ah! 
bah,” he added in a melancholy tone, “there is nothing 
to prove that I shall find my thousand francs to-day, to- 
morrow, or even later on.” 


32 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

'‘Stop a bit,” exclaimed Marcel, “ I have an idea.” 

"Unfold it.” 

"This is the state of things. Legally, this lodging is 
mine, since I have paid a month in advance.” 

"The lodging, yes; but as to the furniture, if I pay, I 
can legally take it away, and if it were possible 1 would 
even take it away illegally. ” 

"So that,” continued Marcel, "you have furniture and 
nx) lodging, and I have a lodging and no furniture. ” 

" That is the position,” observed Schaunard. 

" This lodging suits me,” said Marcel. 

"And for my part it has never suited me better,” said 
Schaunard. 

"Well, then, we can settle this business,” resumed 
Marcel; "stay with me, I will supply house-room, and 
you shall supply the furniture. ” 

"And the rent? ” said Schaunard. 

"Since I have some money just now I will pay it; it 
will be your turn next time. Think about it.” 

" I never think about anything, above all about accept- 
ing a suggestion which suits me. Carried unanimously ; 
in point of fact. Painting and Music are sisters. ” 

"Sisters-in-law,” observed Marcel. 

At that moment Colline and Rodolphe, who had met 
one another, came in. 

Marcel and Schaunard informed them of their partner- 
ship. 

"Gentlemen,” said Rodolphe, tapping his waistcoat 
pocket, "I am ready to stand dinner all round.” 

"That is just what I was going to have the honor of 
proposing,” said Colline, taking out a gold coin which 
he stuck in his eye like a glass. "My prince gave me 
this to buy an Arabic grammar, which I have just paid 
six sous ready cash for.” 

"I,” said Rodolphe, "have got the cashier of the 'Scarf 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 33 

of Iris’ to advance me thirty francs under the pretext that 
I wanted it to get vaccinated.” 

“It is a general pay-day then.?” said Schaunard; 
“there is only myself unable to stand anything. It is 
humiliating.” 

“Meanwhile,” said Rodolphe, “I maintain my offer 
of a dinner.” 

“So do I, said Colline. 

“Very well,” said Rodolphe, “ we will toss up which 
shall settle the bill.” 

“No,” said Schaunard, “I have something far better 
than that to offer you as a way of getting over the diffi- 
culty.” 

“ Let us have it. 

“ Rodolphe shall pay for the dinner, and Colline shall 
stand a supper. ” 

“That is what I call Solomonic jurisprudence,” ex- 
claimed the philosopher. 

“It is worse than Camacho's wedding,” added Marcel. 

The dinner took place at a Provencal restaurant in the 
Rue Dauphine, celebrated for its literary waiters and its 
“ Ayoli.” As it was necessary to leave room for the sup- 
per, they ate and drank in moderation. The acquain- 
tance, begun the evening before between Colline and 
Schaunard and later on with Marcel, became more inti- 
mate ; each of the young fellows hoisted the flag of his 
artistic opinions, and all four recognised that they had 
like courage and similar hopes. Talking and arguing 
they perceived that their sympathies were akin, that they 
had all the same knack in that chaff which amuses with- 
out hurting, and that the virtues of youth had not left a 
vacant spot in their heart, easily stirred by the sight or 
the narration of anything noble. All four starting from 
the same mark to reach the same goal, they thought that 
there was something more than chance in their meeting. 

3 


34 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


and that it might after all be Providence who thus joined 
their hands and whispered in their ears the evangelic 
motto, which should be the sole charter of humanity, 
“ Love one another.'' 

At the end of the repast, which closed in somewhat 
grave mood, Rodolphe rose to propose a toast to the 
future, and Colline replied in a short speech that was not 
taken from any book, had no pretension to style, and was 
merely couched in the good old dialect of simplicity, 
making that which is so badly delivered so well under- 
stood. 

‘ ‘ What a donkey this philosopher is ! " murmured 
Schaunard, whose face was buried in his glass; “here 
is he obliging me to put water in my wine." 

After dinner they went to take coffee at the Caf6 Mo- 
mus, where they had already spent the preceding even- 
ing. It was from that day that the establishment in ques- 
tion became uninhabitable by its other frequenters. 

After coffee and nips of liqueurs the Bohemian clan, 
definitely founded, returned to Marcel’s lodging, which 
took the name of Schaunard’s Elysium. Whilst Colline 
went to order the supper he had promised, the others 
bought squibs, crackers and other pyrotechnic materials, 
and before sitting down to table they let off from the 
windows a magnificent display of fireworks which turned 
the whole house topsy-turvey, and during which the four 
friends shouted at the top of their voices — 

“Let us celebrate this happy day.’* 

The next morning they again found themselves all foul 
together, but without seeming astonished this time. Be- 
fore each going about his business they went together 
and breakfasted frugally at the Cafe Momus, where they 
made an appointment for the evening and where for a 
long time they were seen to return daily. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


35 


Such are the chief personages who will re-appear in 
the episodes of which this volume is made up, a volume 
which is not a romance and has no other pretension than 
that set forth on its title-page, for the Scenes from the Life 
of Bohemia ” is only a series of social studies, the heroes 
of which belong to a class badly-judged till now, whose 
greatest crime is lack of order, and who can even plead in 
excuse that this very lack of order is a necessity of the life 
they lead. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


H6 


CHAPTER TL 

A GOOD ANGEL. 

ScHAUNARD and Marcel, who had been grinding away 
valiantly a whole morning, suddenly struck work. 

“Thunder and lightning! it’s hungry!” cried Schau- 
nard. And he added carelessly, ‘ ‘ Do we breakfast to- 
day ? 

Marcel appeared much astonished at this very inop- 
portune question. 

“How long has it been the fashion to breakfast two 
days running?” he asked, “And yesterday was Thurs- 
day.” He finished his reply by tracing with his mahl- 
stick the ecclesiastical ordinance : 

“ On Friday eat no meat. 

Nor aught resembling it.’* 

Schaunard, finding no answer, returned to his picture, 
which represented a plain inhabited by a red tree and a 
blue tree shaking branches ; an evident allusion to the 
sweets of friendship, which had a very philosophical 
effect. 

At this moment the porter knocked : he had brought 
a letter for Marcel. 

“Three sous,” said he. 

“You are sure ?” replied the artist. “Very well, you 
can owe it to us.” 

He shut the door in the man’s face, and opened the let- 
ter. At the first line, he began to vault round the room 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 37 

like a rope-dancer, and thundered out, at the top of his 
voice, this romantic ditty, which indicated with him the 
highest pitch of ecstasy : 

“ There were four juveniles in our street ; 

They fell so sick they could not eat ; 

They carried them to the hospital — 

Tal! tal!! tal ! ! ! tal ! ! ! ! ” 

yes ! ” said Schaunard, taking him up : 

“ They put all four into one big bed, 

Two at the feet and two at the head.'* 

** Think I don't know it ? " 

Marcel continued : 

“ There came a Sister of Charity — 

Ty ! ty ! tee ! ! tee ! I ” 

** If you don’t stop,” said Schaunard, who suspected 
signs of mental alienation, ‘‘I'll play i\iQ allegro oi my 
symphony on ‘The Influence of Blue in the Arts."' So 
saying, he approached the piano. 

This menace had the effect of a drop of cold water in a 
boiling fluid. Marcel grew calm as if by magic. “ Look 
there I '' said he, passing the letter to his friend. It was 
an invitation to dine with a deputy, an enlightened patron 
of the arts in general and Marcel in particular, since the 
latter had taken the portrait of his country-house. 

“For to-day,” sighed Schaunard. ‘‘Unluckily the 
ticket is not good for two. But stay ! Now I think of it, 
your deputy is of the government party ; you cannot, 
you must not accept. Your principles will not permit 
you to partake of the bread which has been watered by 
the tears of the people. ” 

“Bah!’’ replied Marcel, “my deputy is a moderate 
radical ; he voted against the government the other day. 
Beside, he is going to get me an order, and he has pro- 


38 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE I-ATIN QUAETER. 

mised to introduce me in society. Morever, this may be 
Friday as much as it likes ; I am as famished as Ugolino, 
and I mean to dine to-day. There now ! ” 

“There are other difficulties/’ continued Schaunard, who 
could not help being a little jealous of the good fortune 
that had fallen to his friend's lot. “You can’t dine out 
in a red flannel shirt and slippers. ” 

“ I shall borrow clothes of Rodolphe or Colline.” 

“Infatuated youth ! do you forget that this is thp 
twentieth, and at this time of the month their wardrobe 
is up to the very top of the spout ? ” 

“Between now and five o’clock this evening I shall 
find a dress-coat.” 

“I took three weeks to get one when I went to my 
cousin’s wedding, and that was in January.” 

“Well, then, I shall go as I am,” said Marcel, with a 
theatrical stride. “ It shall certainly never be said that a 
miserable question of etiquette hindered me from making 
my first step in society.” 

“Without boots,” suggested his friend. 

Marcel rushed out in a state of agitation impossible to 
describe. At the end of two hours he returned, loaded 
with a false collar. 

“Hardly worth while to run so far for that,” said 
Schaunard. “ There was paper enough here to make a 
dozen. ” 

“But,” cried Marcel, tearing his hair, “we have 
some things — confound it ! ” And he commenced a 
thorough investigation of every corner of the two rooms. 
After an hour’s search, he realised a costume thus com- 
posed : 

A pair of plaid trowsers, a gray hat, a red cravat, a blue 
waistcoat, two boots, one black glove^ and one glove that 
had been white. 

“That will make two black gloves on a pinch,” said 


THE BOHEMIAN’S OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 39 

Schaunard. You are going to look like the solar spec- 
trum in that dress. To be sure, a colorist such as you 
are ” 

Marcel was trying the boots. Alas ! they are both for 
the same foot 1 The artist, in despair, perceived an old boot 
in a corner which had served as the receptacle of their 
depleted vessies. He seized upon it. 

“From Garrick to Syllable,” * said his jesting comrade ; 
“ One square-toed and the other round.” 

“ I am going to varnish them, and it won't show.” 

“ A good idea ! Now you only want the dress-coat.” 

“Oh ! ” cried Marcel, biting his fists : 

“To have one would I give ten years of life, 

And this right hand, I tell thee.” 

They heard another knock at the door. Marcel opened 

it. V 

“Monsieur Schaunard .^ ” inquired a stranger, halting 
on the threshold. 

“At your service,” replied the painter, inviting him in. 

The stranger had one of those honest faces which 
typify the provincial. 

“Sir,’’ said he, “my cousin has often spoken to me of 
your talent for portrait-painting, and being on the point 
of making a voyage to the colonies, whither I am deputed 
by the sugar-refiners of the city of Nantes, I wish to leave 
my family something to remember me by. That is why 
I am come to see you. ” 

“ Holy Providence ! ” ejaculated Schaunard. “ Marcel, 
a seat for Monsieur ” 

“Blancheron,” said the newcomer; “Blancheron of 
Nantes, delegate of the sugar-interest, Ex-Mayor, Captain 
of the National Guard, and author of a pamphlet on the 
sugar-question. ” 

* Slang for Scylla and Chzryhdis.— Trans . 


40 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

‘*1 am highly honoured at having been chosen by 
you,” said the artist, with a low reverence to the delegate 
of the refiners. “ How do you wish your portrait taken ? ” 

“ In miniature,” replied Blancheron, like that ; ” and 
he painted to a portrait in oil ; for the delegate w'as one 
of that class with whom every thing smaller than the side 
of a house is miniature. Schaunard had the measure of 
his man immediately, especially when the other added 
that he wished to be painted with the best colours. 

“ I never use any other,” said the artist. “ How large 
do you wish it to be ? ” 

About so big,” answered the other, pointing to a kit- 
cat. “ How much will it be } ” 

Sixty francs with the hands, fifty without.” 

“The deuce it will ! My cousin talked of thirty francs.” 

“ It depends on the season. Colours are much dearer 
at some times of the year than at others.” 

“Bless me ! it’s just like sugar ! ” 

“ Precisely.” 

“ Fifty francs then be it.” 

“You are wrong there; for ten francs more you will 
have your hands, and I will put in them your pamphlet on 
the sugar-question, which will have a very good effect.” 

“By Jove, you are right ! ” 

“ Thunder and lightning ! ” said Schaunard to himself, 
“if he goes on so, I shall burst, and hurt him with one 
of the pieces. ” 

“ Did you see } ” whispered Marcel 

“What?” 

He has a black coat.” 

“I take. Let me manage. ” 

“Well,” quoth the delegate, “when do we begin! 
There is no time to lose, for I sail soon.” 

“I have to take a little trip myself the day after to- 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 41 

morrow : so, if yoii please, we will begin at once. One 
good sitting will help us along some way." 

“But it will soon be night, and you can't paint by 
candlelight. " 

“My room is arranged so that we can work at all hours 
in it. If you will take off your coat, and put yourself in 
position, we will commence." 

“Take off my coat ? What for ? " 

“You told me that you intended this portrait for your 
family. " 

“ Certainly." 

“ Well, then, you ought to be represented in your 
at-home dress — in your dressing-gown. It is the custom 
to be so. " 

“ But I haven’t any dressing gown here." 

“ But I have. The case is provided for," quoth Schau- 
nard, presenting to his sitter a very ragged garment, so 
ornamented with paint marks that the honest provincial 
hesitated about getting into it. 

“ A very odd dress," said he. 

“And very valuable. A Turkish vizier gave it to Horace 
Vernet, and he gave it to me when he had done with it. 
l am a pupil of his." 

“ Are you a pupil of Vernet's ? ’’ 

“ I am proud to be," said the artist. “ Wretch that I 
am ! " he muttered to himself, “ I deny my gods and mas^ 
ters ! " 

“You have reason to be proud, my young friend," re- 
plied the delegate, donning the dressing-gown with the 
illustrious origin. 

“Hangup Monsieur Blancheron’s coat in the ward- 
robe," said Schaunard to his friend, with a significant 
wink. 

“Ain't he too good?" whispered Marcel as he pounced 
on his prey, and nodded towards Blancheron. “If you 
could only keep a piece of him," 


42 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


‘^ril try ; but do you dress yourself, and cut. Come 
back by ten; I will keep him till then. Above all, bring 
me something in your pocket." 

^‘Fll bring you a pine-apple," said Marcel as he evap- 
orated. 

He dressed himself hastily ; the dress-coat fitted him 
like a glove. Then he went out by the second door of 
the studio. 

Schaunard set himself to work. When it was fairly 
night, Monsieur Blancheron heard the clock strike six, 
and remembered that he had not dined. He informed 
Schaunard of the fact. 

“lam in the same position," said the other ; but to 
oblige you, I will go without to-day, though I had an in- 
vitation in the Faubourg St. Germain. But we can’t break 
off now ; it might spoil the resemblance. ’’ And he 
painted away harder than ever. “ By the way," said he, 
suddenly, “we can dine without breaking off. There is 
a capital restaurant downstairs, which will send us up 
anything we like. ” And Schaunard awaited the effect of 
his trial of plurals. 

“I accept your idea,” said Blancheron ; “ and in return, 
I hope you will do me the honour of keeping me com- 
pany at table. " 

Schaunard bowed. “ Really," said he to himself, 
“this is a fine fellow — a very godsend. “Will you 
order the dinner.? " he asked his Amphitryon. 

“ You will oblige me by taking that trouble," replied 
the other, politely. 

“So much the worse for you, my boy," said the painter 
as he pitched down the stairs, four steps at a time. March- 
ing up to the counter, he wrote out a bill of fare that 
made the Vatel of the establishment turn pale. 

“Claret! who’s to pay for it?" 

“Probably not I," said Schaunard, “but an uncle of 


Uugrateful wretch!” said Marcel. 





f 


'■"'‘VA 








• a 


4 


“r.-; t ji 


%* - • t ■ 4m %A -* , * ‘ 


% 




A 


7 


I • * > »■ 





«■ / 




) »> 

r 







.'•^ . • ■ i’ 

• "A >, ‘* 

L,:, 







II 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUAKTEB. 


43 


mine that you will find up there, a very good judge. So, 
do your best, and let us have dinner in half an hour, 
served on porcelain.’’ 

At eight o’clock. Monsieur Blancheron felt the necessity 
of pouring into a friend’s ear his idea on the sugar ques- 
tion, and accordingly recited his pamphlet to Schaunard, 
who accompanied him on the piano. 

At ten, they danced the galop together. 

At eleven, they swore never to separate, and to make 
wills in each other’s favour. 

At twelve, Marcel returned, and found them locked in a 
mutual embrace, and dissolved in tears. The floor was 
half an inch deep in fluid — either from that cause or the 
liquor that had been spilt. He stumbled against the table, 
and remarked the splendid relics of the sumptuous feast. 
He tried the bottles ; they were utterly empty. He 
attempted to rouse Schaunard ; but the latter menaced him 
with speedy death, if he tore him from his friend Blan- 
cheron, of whom he was making a pillow. 

“Ungrateful wretch !” said Marcel, taking out of his 
pocket a handful of nuts ; ‘ ‘ when I had brought him some 
dinner 1 ’* 


44 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTER. 


CHAPTER IIL 

LENTEN LOVES. 

One evening in Lent Rodolphe returned home early 
with the idea of working. But scarcely had he sat down 
at his table and dipped his pen in the ink than he was 
disturbed by a singular noise. Putting his ear to the 
treacherous partition that separated him from the next 
room, he listened, and plainly distinguished a dialogue 
broken by the sound of kisses and other amourous inter- 
ruptions. 

The deuce,” thought Rodolphe, glancing at his clock, 
“it is still early, and my neighbour is a Juliet who usually 
keeps her Romeo till long after the lark has sung. I can- 
not work to-night.” 

And taking his hat he went out. Handing in his key at 
the porter’s lodge he found the porter’s wife half clasped in 
the arms of a gallant. The poor woman was so flustered 
that it was five minutes before she could draw the latch. 

“ In point of fact,” thought Rodolphe, “there are times 
when porters grow human again.” 

Passing through the door he found in its recess a sapper 
and a cook exchanging the luck-penny of love. 

“ Hang it,” said Rodolphe, alluding to the warrior and 
his robust companion, “here are heretics who scarcely 
think that we are in Lent.” 

And he set out for the abode of one of his friends who 
lived in the neighbourhood. 

“If Marcel is at home,” said he to himself, “ we will 
pass the evening in abusing Colline. One must do some- 
thing.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 45 

As he rapped vigorously, the door was partly opened, 
and a young man, simply clad in a shirt and an eyeglass, 
presented himself. 

“ I cannot receive you,” said he to Rodolphe. 

“Why not?” asked the latter. 

“There,” said Marcel, pointing to a feminine head 
that had just peeped out from behind a curtain, “ there is 
my answer.” 

“ It is not a pretty one,” said Rodolphe, who had just 
had the door closed in his face. “ Ah ! ” said he to him- 
self when he got into the street, “ what shall I do? Sup- 
pose I call on Colline, we could pass the time in abusing 
Marcel.” 

Passing along the Rue de I’Ouest, usually dark and 
unfrequented, Rodolphe made out a shade walking up 
and down in melancholy fashion, and muttering in rhyme. 

“Ho, ho!” said Rodolphe, “who is this animated 
sonnet loitering here ? What, Colline I ” 

‘ ‘ What, Rodolphe ! Where are you going ? ” 

“ To your place.” 

“You won’t find me there.” 

“What are you doing here? 

“Waiting. ” 

‘ ‘ What are you waiting for ? ” 

“Ah ! ” said Colline in a tone of raillery, “what can 
one be waiting for when one is twenty, when there are 
stars in the sky and songs in the air ? ” 

“ Speak in prose.” 

“ I am waiting for a girl.” 

“ Good-night,” said Rodolphe, who went on his way 
continuing his monologue. “What,” said he, “is it St. 
Cupid’s Day, and cannot I take a step without running 
up against people in love ? It is scandalously immoral. 
What are the police about ? ” 

As the gardens of the Luxembourg were still open. 


46 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


Rodolphe passed into them to shorten his road. Amidst 
the deserted paths he often saw flitting before him, as 
though disturbed by his footsteps, couples mysteriously 
interlaced, and seeking, as a poet has remarked, the two- 
fold luxury of silence and shade. 

“This,” said Rodolphe, “is an evening borrowed from 
a romance.” And yet overcome, despite himself, by a 
languorous charm, he sat down on a seat and gazed senti- 
mentally at the moon. 

In a short time he was wholly under the spell of a 
feverish hallucination. It seemed to him that the gods 
and heroes in marble who peopled the garden were quit- 
ting their pedestals to make love to the goddesses and 
heroines, their neighbours, and he distinctly heard the 
great Hercules recite a madrigal to the Velleda, whose 
tunic appeared to him to have grown singularly short. 

From the seat he occupied he saw the swan of the 
fountain making its way towards a nymph of the vicinity. 

“Good,” thought Rodolphe, who accepted all this 
mythology, “ there is Jupiter going to keep an appoint- 
ment with Leda ; provided always that the park-keeper 
does not surprise them.” 

Then he leaned his forehead on his hand and plunged 
further into the flowery thickets of sentiment. But at this 
sweet moment of his dream Rodolphe was suddenly 
awakened by a park-keeper, who came up and tapped 
him on the shoulder. 

“ It is closing time, sir,” said he. 

“ That is lucky,” thought Rodolphe. “ If I had stayed 
here another five minutes I should have had more senti- 
ment in my breast than is to be found on the banks of the 
Rhine or in Alphonse Karr’s romances.” 

And he hastened from the gardens humming a senti- 
mental ballad that was for him the Marseillaise of love. 

Half an hour later, goodness knows how, he was at the 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEK. 47 

Prado, seated before a glass of punch and talking with a 
tall fellow celebrated on account of his nose, which had 
the singular privilege of being aquiline when seen side- 
ways, and a snub when viewed in front. It was a nose 
that was not devoid of sharpness, and had had a suf- 
ficiency of gallant adventures to be able in such a case to 
give good advice and be useful to its friend. 

‘ ‘ So, said Alexander Schaunard, the man with the nose, 
“you are in love.^" 

“Yes, my dear fellow, it seized on me, just now, sud- 
denly, like a bad toothache in the heart.” 

“ Pass me the tobacco,” said Alexander. 

“Fancy,’’ continued Rodolphe, “for the last two hours I 
have met nothing but lovers, men and women in couples. 
I had the notion of going into the Luxembourg Gardens, 
where I saw all manner of phantasmagorias, that stirred 
my heart extraordinarily. Elegies are bursting from me, 
I bleat and I coo ; I am undergoing a metamorphosis, 
and am half lamb half turtle-dove. Look at me a bit, I 
must have wool and feathers.” 

“What have you been drinking .?” said Alexander im- 
patiently, “you are chaffing me.” 

“ I assure you that I am quite cool,” replied Rodolphe. 
“That is to say, no. But I will announce to you that I 
must embrace something. You see, Alexander, it is not 
good for a man to live alone ; in short you must help me 
to find a companion. We will stroll through the ball-rooirv 
and the first girl I point out to you, you must go and tell 
her that I love her.” 

Why don't you go and tell her so yourself? ” replied 
Alexander in his magnificent nasal bass. 

“ Eh ? my dear fellow,” said Rodolphe. “I can assure 
you that I have quite forgot how one sets about saying 
that sort of thing. In all my love stories it has been my 
friends who have written the preface, and sometimes even 
the dhiouement ; I never knew how to begin.” 


48 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


It is enough to know how to end,” said Alexander ; 
“but I understand you. I knew a girl who loved the 
oboe, perhaps you would suit her. ” 

“Ah!” said Rodolphe. “I should like her to have 
white gloves and blue eyes.” 

“The deuce, blue eyes, I won’t say no — but gloves — 
you know that we can’t have everything at once. How- 
ever, let us go into the aristocratic regions.” 

“There,” said Rodolphe, as they entered the saloon 
favoured by the fashionables of the place, “there is one 
who seems nice and quiet ; ” and he pointed out a young 
girl fairly well dressed who was seated in a corner. 

“Very good,” replied Alexander, “ keep a little in the 
background; I am going to launch the fire-ship of passion 
for you. When it is necessary to put in an appearance I 
will call you.” 

For ten minutes Alexander conversed with the girl, who 
from time to time broke out in a joyous burst of laughter, 
and ended by casting towards Rodolphe a smiling glance 
which said plainly enough, “Come, your advocate has 
won his cause.” 

“Come,” said Alexander, “the victory is ours, the little 
one is no doubt far from cruel, but put on an air of sim- 
plicity to begin with. ” 

“You have no need to recommend me to do that.” 

“ Then give me some tobacco,” said Alexander, “ and 
go and sit down beside her.” 

“Good heavens,” said the young girl when Rodolphe 
had taken his place by her side, “ how funny your friend 
is 1 His voice is like a trumpet. ” 

“That is because he is a musician.” 

Two hours later Rodolphe and his companion halted in 
front of a house in the Rue St. Denis. 

“ It is here that I live,” said the girl. 

“Well, my dear Louise, when and where shall I see you 
again ? ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


49 


‘‘At your place at eight o’clock to-morrow evening.” 

“For sure 

“Here is my pledge,” replied Louise, holding up her 
rosy cheek to Rodolphe's, who eagerly tasted this ripe 
fruit of youth and health. 

Rodolphe went home perfectly intoxicated. 

“Ah!” said he, striding up and down his room, “it 
can’t go off like that, I must write some verses.” 

The next morning his porter found in his room some 
thirty sheets of paper, at the top of which stretched in 
solitary majesty the line — 

“ Oh ; love, oh ! love, fair prince of youth.” 

That morning, contrary to his habits, Rodolphe had 
risen very early, and although he had slept very little, he 
got up at once. 

“ Ah 1 ” he exclaimed ; “to-day is the great day. But 
then twelve hours to wait. How shall I fill up these 
twelve eternities ? ” 

And as his glance fell on his desk he seemed to see his 
pen wriggle as though intending to say to him “Work.” 

“Ah! yes, work indeed! A fig for prose. I won’t 
stop here, it reeks of ink.” 

He went off and settled himself in a cafe where he was 
sure not to meet any friends. 

“They would see that I am in love,” he thought, “ and 
shape my ideal for me in advance.” 

After a very brief repast he was off to the railway sta- 
tion, and got into a train. Half an hour later he was in 
the woods of Ville d’Avray. 

Rodolphe strolled about all day, let loose amongst re- 
juvenated nature, and only returned to Paris at nightfall. 

After having put the temple which was to receive his 
idol in order, Rodolphe arrayed himself for the occasion, 
greatly regretting not being able to dress in white. 

4 


50 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

From seven to eight o'clock he was a prey to the sharp 
fever of expectation. A slow torture, that recalled to him 
the old days and the old loves which had sweetened them. 
Then, according to habit, he already began to dream of 
an exalted passion, a love affair in ten volumes, a genuine 
lyric poem with moonlight, setting suns, meetings be- 
neath the willows, jealousies, sighs, and all the rest. He 
was like this every time chance brought a woman to his 
door, and not one had left him without bearing away 
an aureola about her head and a necklace of tears about 
her neck. 

‘‘They would prefer new boots or a bonnet," his 
friends remarked to him. 

But Rodolphe persisted, and up to this time the numer- 
ous blunders he had made had not sufficed to cure him. 
He was always awaiting a woman who would consent to 
pose as an idol, an angel in a velvet gown, to whom he 
could at his leisure address sonnets written on willow 
leaves. 

At length Rodolphe heard the ‘‘holy hour" strike, and 
as the last stroke sounded he fancied he saw the Cupid 
and Psyche surmounting his clock entwine their alabaster 
arms about one another. At the same moment two timid 
taps were given at the door. 

Rodolphe went and opened it. It was Louise. 

“You see I have kept my word," said she. 

Rodolphe drew the curtain and lit a fresh candle. 

During this operation the girl had removed her bonnet 
and shawl, which she went and placed on the bed. The 
dazzling whiteness of the sheets caused her to smile, and 
almost to blush. 

Louise was rather pleasing than pretty : her fresh- 
coloured face presented an attractive blending of simplicity 
and archness. It was something like an outline of Greuze 
touched by Gavarni. All her youthful attractions were 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 51 

cleverly set off by a toilette which, although ver}’- simple, 
attested in her that innate science of coquetry which all 
women possess from their first swaddling clothes to their 
bridal robe. Louise appeared besides to have made an 
especial study of the theory of attitudes, and assumed be- 
fore Rodolphe, who examined her with an artistic eye, 
a number of seductive poses. Her neatly shod feet were 
of satisfactory smallness, even fora romantic lover smit- 
ten by Andalusian or Chinese miniaturevS. As to her 
hands, their softness attested idleness. In fact, for six 
months past she had no longer any reason to fear needle 
pricks. In short, Louise was one of those fickle birds of 
passage who from fancy, and often from necessity, make 
for a day, or rather a night, their nest in the garrets of 
the students’ quarter, and remain there willingly for a 
few days, if one knows how to retain them by a whim 
or by some ribbons. 

After having chatted for an hour with Louise, Rodolphe 
showed her, as an example, the group of Cupid and 
Psyche. 

“ Isn’t it Paul and Virginia ? ” said she. 

“Yes,” replied Rodolphe, who did not want to vex her 
at the outset by contradicting her. 

“They are very well done,” said Louise. 

“ Alas ! ” thought Rodolphe, gazing at her, “ the poor 
child is not up to much as regards literature. I am sure that 
her only orthography is that of the heart. I must buy her 
a dictionary. ” 

However, as Louise complained of her boots incommod- 
ing her, he obligingly helped her to unlace them. 

All at once the light went out. 

“ Hallo !” exclaimed Rodolphe, “who has blown the 
candle out.^” 

A joyful burst of laughter replied to him. 


^2 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

A few days later Rodolphe met one of his friends in 
the street. 

“What are you up to ? ” said the latter. “ One no lon- 
ger sees anything of you.” 

“I am studying the poetry of intimacy,” replied Ro- 
dolphe. 

The poor fellow spoke the truth. He sought from Louise 
more than the poor girl could give him. An oaten pipe, 
she had not the strains of a lyre. She spoke, so to say, 
the jargon of love, and Rodolphe insisted upon speaking 
the classic language. Thus they scarcely understood one 
another. 

A week later, at the same ball at which she had found 
Rodolphe, Louise met a fair young fellow, who danced 
with her several times, and at the close of the entertain- 
ment took her home with him. 

He was a second year s student : he spoke the prose of 
pleasure very fluently, and had good eyes and a well- 
lined pocket. 

Louise asked him for ink and paper, and w^rote to Ro- 
dolphe a letter couched as follows : — 


“ Do not rekkon on me at all. 
the last time. Good-by. 


I sende you a kiss for 
Louise. ” 


As Rodolphe w^as reading this letter on reaching home 
in the evening, his light suddenly went out. 

“Hallo ! ’’said he, n^flectively, “it is the candle I first 
lit on the evening that Louise came — it was bound to fin- 
ish with our union. If I had knowui I w'ould have chosen 
a longer one,” he added, in a tone half of annoyance, half 
of regret, and he placed his mistress’s note in a drawer, 
which he sometimes styled the catacomb of his loves. 

One day, being at IMarcel’s, Rodolphe picked up from 
the ground to light his pipe with, a scrap of paper on which 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 53 

he recognized the hand-writing and the orthograpny of 
Louise. 

“I have,” said he to his friend, “an autograph of 
the same person ; only there are two mistakes the less 
than in yours. Does not that prove that she loved me 
better than you ? ” 

“ That proves that you are a simpleton,” replied Marcel. 
“White arms and shoulders have no need of grammar.” 


54 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


CHAPTER IV. 

ALI-RODOLPKE ; OR, THE TURK PERFORCE. 

Ostracized by an inhospitable proprietor, Rodolphe had 
for some time been leading a life compared with which the 
existence of a cloud is rather stationary. He practised 
assiduously the arts of going to bed without supper, and 
supping without going to bed. He often dined with Duke 
Humphrey, and generally slept at the sign of the clear 
sky. Still, amid all these crosses and troubles, two things 
never forsook him : his good-humour and the manuscript 
of “The Avenger,” a drama which had gone the rounds of 
all the theatres in Paris. 

One day Rodolphe, who had been jugged for some 
slight chor&graphic extravagances, stumbled upon an uncle 
of his, one Monetti, a stove-maker and smoky chimney, 
doctor, and sergeant of the National Guard, whom he had 
not seen for an age. Touched by his nephew’s misfor- 
tunes, Uncle Monetti promised to ameliorate his position. 
We shall see how, if the reader is not afraid of mounting 
six stories. 

Take note of the banisters, then, and follow. Up we 
go ! Whew I one hundred and twenty-five steps ! Plere 
we are at last. One more step, and we are in the 
room ; one more yet, and we should be out of it again. 
It’s little, but high up, with the advantages of good air 
and a fine prospect. 

The furniture is composed of two French stoves, several 
German ditto, some ovens on the economic plan, (espe- 
cially if you never make any fire in them,) a dozen stove- 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 55 

pipes, some red clay, some sheet-iron, and a whole host 
of heating-apparatus. We may mention, to complete the 
inventory, a hammock suspended from two nails inserted 
in the wall, a three-legged garden-chair, a candle-stick 
adorned with its bobeche, and some other similar objects 
of elegant art. As to the second room — that is to say, 
the balcony — two dwarf cypresses, in pots, make a park 
of it for fine weather. 

At the moment ot our entry, the occupant of the premises, 
a young man, dressed like a Turk of the Comic Opera, is 
finishing a repast, in which he shamelessly violates the 
law' of the Prophet Witness a bone that was once a ham, 
and a bottle that has been full of wine. His meal over, 
the young Turk stretches himself on the floor in true 
Eastern style, and begins carelessly to smoke a narghile. 
While abandoning himself to this Asiatic luxury, he passes 
his hand from time to time over the back of a magnificent 
Newfoundland dog, who w^ould doubtless respond to its 
caresses were he not also in terra cotta, to match the rest 
of the furniture. ‘ 

Suddenly a noise was heard in the entry, and the door 
opened, admitting a person who, without saying a w^ord, 
marched straight to one of the stoves, which served the 
purpose of a secretary, opened the stove-door, and drew 
out a bundle of papers. 

“ Hallo ! ” cried the new-comer, after examining the 
manuscript attentively, “the chapter on ventilators not 
finished yet ! 

“Allow me to observe, uncle,” replied the Turk, “the 
chapter on ventilators is one of the most interesting in 
your book, and requires to be studied with care. I am 
studying it.” 

“But, you miserable fellow, you are always saying the 
same thing. And the chapter on stoves — where are you 
in that ? ” 


56 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


"‘The stoves are going on well ; but, by- the way, uncle, 
if you could give me a little wood, it wouldn’t hurt me. 
It is a little Siberia here. I am so cold, that I make a 
thermometer go down below zero by just looking at it.” 

“What ! you’ve used up one faggot already ?” 

“Allow me to remark again, uncle, there are different 
kinds of faggots, and yours was the very smallest kind. ” 

“I’ll send you an economic log* — that keeps the heat.” 

“Exactly, and doesn’t give any.” 

“Well,” said the uncle as he went off, “you shall 
have a little faggot, and I must have my chapter on stoves 
for to-morrow.” 

“When I have fire, that will inspire me,” answered the 
Turk as he heard himself locked in. 

Were we making a tragedy, this would be the time to 
bring in a confidant. Noureddin or Osman he should be 
called, and he should advance towards our hero with an 
air at the same time discreet and patronizing. 

To console him for his reverses, 

By means of these three verses: 

‘ What saddening grief, my Lord, assails you now ? 

Why sits this pallor on your noble brow ? 

Does Allah lend your plans no helping hand ? 

Or cruel Ali, with severe command. 

Remove to other shores the beauteous dame, 

Who charmed your eyes and set your heart on flamel ’ 

But we are not making a tragedy, so we must do with- 
out our confidant, though he would be very convenient. 

Our hero is not what he appears to be. The turban 
does noes not make the Turk. This young man is our 
friend Rodolphe, entertainedby his uncle, for whom he is 

♦ These economic logs made of some sort of composition, consume 
very gradually, and take up much of the room which might otherwise 
be occupied by more perishable fuel. What addition they make to the 
heat of the room is a matter of opinion. — Trans. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 57 

drawing up a manual of “The Perfect Chimney-Con- 
structor.” In fact, Monsieur Monetti, an enthusiast for his 
art, had consecrated his days to the science of chimneys. 
One day he formed the idea of drawing up, for the bene- 
fit of posterity, a theoretic code of the principles of that 
art, in the practice of which he so excelled, and he had 
chosen his nephew, as we have seen, to frame the sub- 
stance of his ideas in an intelligible form. Rodolphe was 
found in board, lodging, and other contingencies, and at 
the completion of the manual was to receive a recompense 
of three hundred francs. 

In the beginning, to encourage his nephew, Monetti 
had generously made him an advance of fifty francs. But 
Rodolphe, who had not seen so much silver together for 
nearly a year, went out, half crazy, in company with his 
money, staid out three days, and on the fourth came 
home alone ! Thereupon the uncle, who was in haste to 
have his “Manual” finished, inasmuch as he hoped to 
get a patent for it, dreading some new diversion on his 
nephew’s part, determined to make him work by pre- 
venting him from going out. To this end he carried off 
his garments, and left him instead the disguise under 
which we have seen him. Nevertheless, the famous 
“Manual” continued to make very slow progress, for 
Rodolphe had no genius whatever for this kind of litera- 
ture. The uncle avenged himself for this lazy indifference 
on the great subject of chimneys by making his nephew 
undergo a host of annoyances. Sometimes he cut short 
his commons, and frequently stopped the supply of to- 
bacco. 

One Sunday, after having sweated blood and ink upon 
the great chapter on ventilators, Rodolphe broke the pen, 
which was burning his fingers, and went out to walk — in 
his “park.” As if on purpose to plague him, and excite 
his envy the more, he could not cast a single look about 


58 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


him without perceiving the figure of a smoker at every 
window. 

On the gilt balcony of a new house opposite, an ex- 
quisite in his dressing-gown was biting off the end of an 
aristocratic “Panatellas” cigar. A story above, an ar- 
tist was sending before him an odorous cloud of Turkish 
tobacco from his amber-mouthed pipe. At the window 
oi2i brasserie, a fat German was crowning a foaming 
tankard, and emitting, with the regularity of a machine, 
the dense puffs that escaped from his meerschaum. On 
the other side, a group of workmen were singing as they 
passed on their way to their barriers, their “throat-scorch- 
ers ” between their teeth. Finally, all the other pedes- 
trians visible in the street were smoking. 

“ Woe is me ! ” sighed Rodolphe : “ except myself and 
my uncle’s chimneys, all creation is smoking at this 
hour ! ” And he rested his forehead on the bar of the bal- 
cony, and thought how dreary life was. 

Suddenly, a burst of long and musical laughter parted 
under his feet. Rodolphe bent forward a little, to dis- 
cover the source of this volley of gaiety, and perceived 
that he had been perceived by the tenant of the story 
beneath him, Mademoiselle Sidonia, of the Luxembourg 
Theatre. The young lady advanced to the front of her 
balcony, rolling between her fingers, with the dexterity of 
a Spaniard, a paper-full of light-coloured tobacco, which 
she took from a bag of embroidered velvet. 

“ What a sweet cigar-girl it is ! ” murmured Rodolphe, 
in an ecstasy of contemplation. 

“ Who is this Ali-Baba ? ’’ thought Mademoiselle Sidonia 
on her part. And she meditated on a pretext for engag- 
ing in conversation with Rodolphe, w^ho was himself try- 
ing to do the very same. 

Bless me!" cried the lady, as if talking to herself, 
“ what a bore ! I’ve no matches I " 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 59 

Allow me to offer you some, mademoiselle,” said 
Rodolphe, letting fall on the balcony two or three lucifers 
rolled up in paper. 

“A thousand thanks,” replied Sidonia, lighting her 
cigarette. 

“Pray, mademoiselle,” continued Rodolphe, “in ex- 
change for the trifling service which my good angel has 
permitted me to render you, may I ask you to do me a 
favour ? ” 

“ Asking already,” thought the actress, as she regarded 
Rodolphe with more attention. “ They say these Turks 
are fickle, but very agreeable. Speak, sir,” she continued 
raising her head towards the young man, “ what do you 
wish ? ” 

“ The charity of a little tobacco, mademoiselle; only 
one pipe. I have not smoked for two whole days.” 

“ Most willingly : but how? Will you take the trouble 
to come downstairs ? ” 

Alas ! I can’t ! I am shut up here, but am still free to 
employ a very simple means. He fastened his pipe to a 
string, and let it glide down to her balcony, where Sidonia 
filled it profusely herself. Rodolphe then proceeded, with 
much care and deliberation, to re-mount his pipe, which 
arrived without accident. “Ah, mademoiselle!” he 
exclaimed, “how much better this pipe would have 
seemed, if I could have lighted it at your eyes 1 ” 

It was at least the hundredth edition of this amiable 
pleasantry, but Sidonia found it superb for all that, and 
thought herself bound to reply : “ You flatter me.” 

“ I assure you, mademoiselle, in right-down earnest, I 
think you handsomer than all the Three Graces together. ” 

“ Decidedly, Ali-Baba is very polite,” thought Sidonia. 
“ Are you really a Turk ? ” she asked Rodolphe. 

“ Not by profession,” he replied, “but by necessity. 
I am a dramatic author. ” 


60 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

And I an artist/’ she replied ; then added, My dear 
sir and neighbour, will you do me the honour to dine and 
spend the evening with me? ” 

“ Alas ! ” answered Rodolphe, “ though your invitation 
is like opening heaven to me, it is impossible to accept it. 
As I had the honour to tell you, I am shut up here by my 
uncle. Monsieur Monetti, stove-maker and chimney-doc- 
tor, whose secretary I now am.” 

“ You shall dine with me for all that,” replied Sidonia. 

Listen : I shall re-enter my room, and tap on the ceiling. 
Look where I strike, and you will find the traces of a trap 
which used to be there, and has since been fastened up. 
Find the means of removing the piece of wood which 
closes the hole, and then, although we are each in our 
own room, we shall be as good as together.” 

Rodolphe went to work at once. In five minutes a 
communication was established between the two rooms. 

“It is a very little hole,” said he, “but there will 
always be room enough to pass you my heart.” 

“Now,” said Sidonia, “ we will go to dinner. Set your 
table, and I will pass you the dishes.” 

Rodolphe let down his turban by a string, and brought 
it back laden with eatables ; then the poet and the actress 
proceeded to dine — on their respective floors. Rodolphe 
devoured the pie with his teeth, and Sidonia with his eyes. 

“Thanks to you, mademoiselle,” he said, when their 
repast was finished, “my stomach is satisfied. Can you 
not also satisfy the void of my heart, which has been so 
long empty ? ” 

“ Poor fellow ! ” said Sidonia ; and climbing on a piece 
of furniture, she lifted up her hand to Rodolphe’s lips, 
who gloved it with kisses. 

“What a pity,” he exclaimed, “you can’t do as St. 
Denis, who had the privilege of carrying his head in his 
hands ! ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


61 


To the dinner succeeded a sentimental literary conver- 
sation. Rodolphe spoke of “ The Avenger/' and Sidonia 
asked him to read it. Leaning over the hole, he began 
declaiming his drama to the actress, who, to hear better, 
had put her arm-chair on the top of a chest of drawers. 
She pronounced “The Avenger" a masterpiece, and hav- 
ing some influence at the theatre, promised Rodolphe to 
get his piece received. 

But at the most interesting moment a step was heard 
in the entry, about as light as that of the Commander’s 
ghost in “Don Juan." It was Uncle Monetti. Rodolphe 
had only just time to shut the trap. 

“Here," said Monetti to his nephew, “this letter has 
been running after you for a month." 

“Uncle! Uncle I" cried Rodolphe, “I am rich at 
last I This letter informs me that I have gained a prize 
of three hundred francs, given by an academy of floral 
games. Quick 1 my coat and my things 1 Let me go to 
gather my laurels. They await me at the Capitol I " 

‘ * And my chapter on ventilators ? ” said Monetti, 
coldly. 

“I like that! Give me my things, I tell you; I caii’t 
go out so ! " 

“You shall go out when my ‘Manual' is finished," 
quoth the uncle, shutting up his nephew under lock and 
key. 

Rodolphe, when left alone, did not hesitate on the 
course to take. He transformed his quilt into a knotted 
rope, which he fastened firmly to his own balcony, and 
in spite of the risk, descended by this extempore ladder 
upon Mademoiselle Sidonia’s. 

“ Who is there } ” she cried, on hearing Rodolphe knock 
at her window. 

“ Hush ! " he replied ; “ open ! " 

“What do you want ? Who are you ? " 


62 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


^‘Can you ask? I am the author of ‘The Avenger’ 
come to look for my heart, which I dropped through the 
trap into your room.” 

“Rash youth!” said the actress, “you might have 
killed yourself 1 ” 

“Listen, Sidonia,” continued Rodolphe, showing her 
the letter he had just received. “You see, wealth and 
glory smile on me ; let love do the same ! ” 

* ♦ :jc ♦ * ♦ * 

The following morning, by means of a masculine dis- 
guise, which Sidonia procured for him, Rodolphe was 
enabled to escape from his uncle’s lodging. He ran to 
the secretary of the academy of floral games, to receive a 
crown of gold sweetbriar, worth three hundred francs, 
which lived 

** as live roses the fairest — 

The space of a day.” 

A month after. Monsieur Monetti was invited by his 
nephew to assist at the first representation of “The 
Avenger.” Thanks to the talent of Mademoiselle Sidonia, 
the piece had a run of seventeen nights, and brought in 
forty francs to its author. 

Some time later — it was in the warm season — Rodolphe 
lodged in the Avenue St. Cloud, third tree as you go out 
of the Bois de Boulogne, on the fifth branch. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUABTER. 


63 


CHAPTER V. 

THE CARLOVINGIAN COIN. 

Towards the end of December the messengers of 
Bidault’s agency were entrusted with the distribution of 
about a hundred copies of a letter of invitation, of which 
we certify the following to be a true and genuine copy : — 

(( 

M.M. Rodolphe and Marcel request the honour of your company on 
Saturday next, Christmas Eve. Fun ! 

P.S. Life is short ! 

PROGRAMME OF THE ENTERTAINMENT. 

PART I. 

7 o’clock. — Opening of the saloons. Brisk and witty conversation. 

8. — Appearance of the talented authors of “ The Mountain in Labour ” 
comedy refused at the Odeon Theatre. 

8.30. — M. Alexander Schaunard, the eminent virtuoso, will play his 
imitative symphony, “ The Influence of Blue in Art,” on the piano. 

9. — First reading of the essay on the “Abolition of the penalty of 
tragedy.” 

9.30. — Philosophical and metaphysical argument between M. Colline, 
hyperphysical philosopher, and M. Schaimard. To avoid any collision 
between the two antagonists, they will both be securely fastened. 

10. — M. Tristran, master of literature, will narrate his early loves, 
accompanied on the piano by M. Alexander Schaunard. 

10.30. — Second reading of the essay on the “Abolition of the penalty 
of tragedy.” 

1 1 . — Narration of a cassowary hunt by a foreign prince. 


PART II. 

Midnight. — M. Marcel, historical jminter, will execute with his eyes 
bandaged an impromptu sketch in chalk of the meeting of Voltaire and 


64 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


Napoleon in the Elysian Fields. M. Rodolphe will also improvise a 
parallel between the author of Zaire, and the victor of Austerlitz. 

12.30. — M. Gustave Colline, in a decent undress, will give an imita- 
tion of the athletic games of the 4th Olympiad. 

1. — Third reading of the essay on the “Abolition of the penalty of 
tragedy,” and subscription on behalf of tragic authors who will one day 
find themselves out of employment. 

2. — Commencement of games and organization of quadrilles to last 
until morning. 

6. — Sunrise and final chorus. 

During the whole of the entertainment ventilators will be in action. 

N.B. Anyone attempting to read or recite poetry will be summarily 
ejected and handed over to the police. The guests are equally requested 
not to help themselves to the candle ends. 

Two days later copies of this invitation were circulating 
among the lower depths of art and literature, and created 
a profound sensation. 

There were, however, amongst the invited guests, some 
who cast doubt upon the splendour of the promises made 
by the two friends. 

“ I am very sceptical about it,’^ said one of them. “ I 
have sometimes gone to Rodolphe’s Thursdays in the Rue 
de la Tour d’Auvergne, when one could only sit on any- 
thing morally, and where all one had to drink was a little 
filtered water in eclectic pottery.’' 

“ This time,” said another, “ it is really serious. Marcel 
has shown me the programme of the fete, and the effect 
will be magical.” 

Will there be any ladies ? ” 

“Yes. Phemie Teinturiere has asked to be queen of the 
fete, and Schaunard is to bring some ladies of position.” 

This is in brief the origin of this fete which caused such 
stupefaction in the Bohemian world across the water. For 
about a year past Marcel and Rodolphe had announced 
this sumptuous gala which was always to take place 
“next Saturday,” but painful circumstances had obliged 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 66 

their promise to extend over fifty-two weeks, so that they 
had come to the pass of not being able to take a step 
without encountering some ironical remark from one of 
their friends, amongst whom there were some indiscreet 
enough to put forward energetic demands for its fulfil- 
ment. • The matter beginning to assume the character of 
a plague, the two friends resolved to put an end to it by 
liquidating the undertaking into which they had entered. 
It was thus that they sent out the invitation given above. 

Now/’ said Rodolphe, “there is no drawing back. 
We have burnt our ships, and we have before us just a 
week to find the hundred francs that are widispensable to 
do the thing properly.” 

“ Since we must have them, we shall,” replied Marcel. 

And with the insolent confidence which they had in 
luck, the two friends went to sleep, convinced that their 
hundred francs were already on the way, the way of 
impossibility. 

However, as on the day before that appointed for the 
party, nothing had as yet turned up, Rodolphe thought it 
would, perhaps, be safer to give luck a helping hand, 
unless he were to be discredited forever, when the time 
came to light up. To facilitate matters the two friends 
progressively modified thesumptuosity ofthe programme 
they had imposed upon themselves. 

And proceeding from modification to modification, after 
having seriously reduced the item “cakes,” and carefully 
revised and pruned down the item “liquors,” the total 
cost was reduced to fifteen francs. 

The problem was simplified, but not yet solved. 

“Come, come,” said Rodolphe, “we must now have 
recourse to strong measures ; we cannot cry off this time.” 

“No, that is impossible,” replied Marcel. 

“How long is it since I have heard the story of the 
Battle of Studzianka ? ” 


5 


66 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“ About two months. ” 

“Two months, good, that is a decent interval ; my 
uncle will have no ground for grumbling. I will go to- 
morrow and hear his account of that engagement, that 
will be five francs for certain. " 

“I,” said Marcel, “ will go and sell a deserted manor- 
house to old Medicis. That will make another five francs. 
If I have time enough to put in three towers and a mill, it 
will perhaps run to ten francs, and our budget will be 
complete. ” 

And the two friends fell asleep dreaming that the Prin- 
cess Belgiojoso begged them to change their reception day, 
in order not to rob her of her customary guests. 

Awake at dawn, Marcel took a canvas and rapidly set 
to work to build up a deserted manor-house, an article 
which he was in the habit of supplying to a broker of the 
Place du Carrousel. On his side, Rodolphe went to pay 
a visit to his Uncle Monetti, who shone in the story of the 
Retreat from Moscow, and to whom Rodolphe accorded 
five or six times in course of the year, when matters were 
really serious, the satisfaction of narrating his campaigns, 
in return for a small loan which the veteran stove-maker 
did not refuse too obstinately when due enthusiasm was 
displayed in listening to his narrations. 

About two o’clock, Marcel with hanging head and a 
canvas under his arm, met on the Place du Carrousel Ro- 
dolphe, who was returning from his uncle’s, and whose 
bearing also presaged ill news. 

“ Well,” asked Marcel, “did you succeed ? ” 

“No, my uncle has gone to Versailles. And you ? ” 

“That beast of a Medicis does not want anymore 
ruined manor-houses, he wants me to do him a Bombard- 
ment of Tangiers.” 

“Our reputations are ruined for ever if we do not give 
this party,” murmured Rodolphe. “ What will my friend. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEK. 67 

the influential critic, think if I make him put on a white 
tie and yellow kids for nothing.” 

And both went back to the studio, a prey to great un- 
easiness. 

At that moment the clock of a neighbour struck four. 

“We have only three hours before us,” said Rodolphe 
despondingly. 

But,” said Marcel, going up to his friend, “are you 
quite sure, certain sure, that we have no money left any- 
where hereabout ^ Eh .? ” 

“Neither here, nor elsewhere. Where do you suppose 
it could come frorn.^” 

“ If we looked under the furniture; in the stuffing of 
the arm-chairs .? They say that the emigrant noblemen 
used to hide their treasures in the days of Robespierre. 
Who can tell ? Perhaps our arm-chair belonged to an em- 
igrant nobleman ; and, besides, it is so hard that the idea 
has often occurred to me that it must be stuffed with 
metal. Will you dissect it .? ” 

“This is mere comedy,” replied Rodolphe, in a tone in 
which severity was mingled with indulgence. 

Suddenly Marcel, who had gone on rummaging in 
every corner of the studio, uttered a loud cry of triumph. 

“We are saved!” he exclaimed. “I was sure that 
there was money here. Behold I ” and he showed Ro- 
dolphe a coin as large as a crown piece, and half eaten 
away by rust and verdigris. 

It was a Carlovingian coin of some artistic value. The 
legend, happily intact, showed the date of Charlemagne’s 
reign. 

“That, that’s worth thirty sous,” said Rodolphe, with 
a contemptuous glance at his friend’s find. 

“Thirty sous well employed will go a great way,” re- 
plied Marcel. “With twelve hundred men Bonaparte 
made ten thousand Austrians lay down their arms. Skill 


68 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

can replace numbers. I will go and swap the Carlo- 
vingian crown at Daddy Medicis’. Is there not anything 
else saleable here ? Suppose I take the plaster-cast of the 
tibia of Jaconowski, the Russian drum-major.'’ 

“Take the tibia. But it is a nuisance, there will not 
1/e a single ornament left here. ” 

During Marcel’s absence, Rodolphe, his mind made up 
that the party should be given in any case, went in search 
of his friend Colline, the hyperphysical philosopher, who 
lived hard by. 

“I have come,” said he, “to ask you to do me a favour. 
As ho.st I m.ust positively have a black swallow-tail, and 
I have not got one ; lend me yours. ” 

“But,” said Colline hesitating, “as a guest I shall want 
my black swallow-tail too. ” 

“ I will allow you to come in a frock-coat.” 

“ That won’t do. You know very well I have never 
/(ad a frock-coat.” 

“ Well, then, in can be settled in another way. If 
needs be, you need not come to my party, and can lend 
me your swallow-tail.” 

“ That would be unpleasant; I am on the programme, 
and must not be lacking. ” 

“There are plenty of other things that will be lacking,” 
said Rodolphe. “Lend me your black swallow-tail, and 
if you will come, come as you like ; in your shirt-sleeves, 
you will pass for a faithful servant.” 

“ Oh ! no,” said Colline, blushing ; “I will wear my 
great coat. But all the same, it is very unpleasant.” And 
as he saw Rodolphe had already seized on the famous 
black swallow-tail, he called out to him, “Stop a bit; 
there are some odds and ends in the pockets.” 

Colline’s swallow-tail deserves a word or two. In the 
first place it was of a decided blue, and it was from habit 
that Colline spoke of it as “my black swallow-tail.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


69 


And as he was the only one of the band owning a dress 
coat, his friends were likewise in the habit of saying, when 
speaking of the philosopher’s official garment, ^‘Colline’s 
black swallow-tail.” In addition to this, this famous 
garment had a special cut, the oddest imaginable. The 
tails, very long, and attached to a very short waist, had 
two pockets, positive gulfs, in which Colline was accus- 
tomed to store some thirty of the volumes which he 
eternally carried about with him. This caused his friends 
to remark that during the time that the public libraries 
were closed, savants and literary men could go and refer 
to the skirts of Colline’s swallow-tail — a library always 
open. 

That day, extraordinary to relate, Colline’s swallow- 
tail only contained a quarto volume of Bayle, a treatise 
on the hyperphysical faculties in three volumes, a volume 
of Condillac, two of Swedenborg, and Pope’s “Essay on 
Man.” When he had cleared his bookcase-garment, he 
allowed Rodolphe to clothe himself in it. 

“Hallo!” said the latter, “the left pocket still feels 
very heavy ; you have left something in it.” 

“Ah!” exclaimed Colline, “that is so. I forgot to 
empty the foreign languages pocket.” 

And he took out from this two Arabic grammars, 
a Malay dictionary, and a Stock-breeders’ Manual in 
Chinese, his favorite reading. 

When Rodolphe returned home he found Marcel play- 
ing pitch-and-toss with three five-franc pieces. At first 
Rodolphe refused his friend’s proffered hand—he thought 
some crime had been committed. 

“ Let us make haste, let us make haste,” said Marcel ; 
“we have the fifteen francs required. This is how it 
happened. I met an antiquary at Medicis’. When he 
saw the coin he was almost taken ill ; it was the only one 
wanting in his cabinet. He had sent everywhere to get 


70 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


this vacancy filled up, and had lost all hope. Thus, 
when he had thoroughly examined my Carlovingian 
crown-piece, he did not hesitate a moment to offer me 
five francs for it. Medicis nudged with me his elbow : 
a look from him completed the business. He meant, 
‘share the profits of the sale, and I will bid against him.’ 
We ran it up to thirty francs. I gave the Jew fifteen, 
and here are the rest. Now our guests may come ; we 
are in a position to dazzle them. Hallo I you have got 
a swallow-tail ! ” 

“ Yes,” said Rodolphe, “Colline’s swallow-tail.” And 
as he was feeling for his handkerchief, Rodolphe pulled 
out a small volume in a Tartar dialect, overlooked in the 
foreign literature pocket. 

The two friends at once proceeded to make their prep- 
arations. The studio was set in order, a fire kindled in 
the stove, the stretcher of a picture, garnished with com- 
posite candles, suspended from the ceiling as a chande- 
lier, and a writing-table placed in the middle of the studio 
to serve as a rostrum for the orators. The solitary arm- 
chair, which was to be reserved for the influential critic, 
was placed in front of it, and upon a table were arranged 
all the books, romances, poems, pamphlets, etc., the 
authors of which were to honour the company with their 
presence. 

In order to avoid any collision between members of 
the different schools of literature, the studio had been, 
moreover, divided into four compartments, at the entrance 
to each of which could be read, on four hurriedly manu- 
factured placards, the inscriptions — “Poets,” “Prose 
Writers,” “Classic School,” “Romantic School.” 

The ladies were to occupy a space reserved in the 
middle of the studio. 

“Humph ! chairs are lacking,” said Rodolphe. 

“Oh!” remarked Marcel, “there are several on the 


Going to the entertainment. 




THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUARTER. 71 

landing, fastened along the wall. Suppose we were to 
gather them.” 

“Certainly, let us gather them by all means,” said 
Rodolphe, starting off to seize on the chairs, which 
belonged to someneighbour. 

Six o’clock struck : the two friends went off to a hasty 
dinner, and returned to light up the saloons. They were 
themselves dazzled by the result. At seven o'clock 
Schaunard arrived, accompanied by three ladies, who 
had forgotten their diamonds and their bonnets. One of 
them wore a red shawl with black spots ; Schaunard 
pointed out this lady particularly to Rodolphe. 

“She is a woman accustomed to the best society, ” said 
he ; “ an Englishwoman whom the fall of the Stuarts has 
driven into exile, she lives in a modest way by giving 
lessons in English. Her father was Lord Chancellor under 
Cromwell, she told me, so we must be polite with her ; 
don’t be too familiar.’' 

Numerous footsteps were heard on the stairs. It was 
the guests arriving. They seemed astonished to see a fire 
burning in the stove. 

Rodolphe’s swallow-tail went to greet the ladies, and 
kissed their hands with a grace worthy of the Regency. 
When there were a score of persons present, Schaunard 
asked whether it was not time for a round of drinks. 

“Presently,” said Marcel. “We are waiting for the 
arrival of the influential critic to set fire to the punch.” 

At eight o’clock the whole of the guests had arrived, 
and the execution of the programme commenced. Each 
item was alternated with a round of drink of some kind, 
no one ever knew what. 

Towards ten o’clock the white waistcoat of the influen- 
tial critic made its appearance. He only stayed an hour, 
and was very sober in his consumption of refreshments. 

At midnight, as there was no more wood, and it was 


72 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

very cold, the guests who were seated drew lots as to 
who should cast his chair into the fire. 

By one o’clock every one was standing. 

Amiable gaiety did not cease to reign amongst the 
guests. There were no accidents to be regretted, with 
the exception of a rent in the foreign languages pocket of 
Colline’s swallow-tail and a smack in the face given by 
Schaunard to the daughter of Cromwell’s Lord Chancellor. 

This memorable evening was for a week the staple 
subject of gossip in the district, and Phemie Teinturiere, 
who had been the queen of the fete, was accustomed to 
remark, when talking it over with her friends, — 

“ It was awfully fine. There were composite candles, 
my dear.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


73 


CHAPTER VI. 

MADEMOISELLE MUSETTE. 

Mademoiselle Musette was a pretty girl of twenty who 
shortly after her arrival in Paris had become what many 
pretty girls become when they have a neat figure, plenty 
of coquettishness, a dash of ambition and hardly any 
education. After having for a long time shone as the 
star of the supper-parties of the Latin quarter, at which 
she used to sing in a voice, still very fresh if not very 
true, a number of country ditties, which earned her the 
nickname under which she has since been immortalized 
by one of our neatest rhymesters. Mademoiselle Musette, 
suddenly left the Rue de la Harpe to go and dwell upon 
the Cytherean heights of the Breda district. 

She speedily became one of the foremost of the aris- 
tocracy of pleasure and slowly made her way towards 
that celebrity which consists in being mentioned in the 
columns devoted to Parisian gossip, or lithographed at the 
printsellers. 

However, Mademoiselle Musette was an exception to 
the women amongst whom she lived. Of a nature in- 
stinctively elegant and poetical, like all women who are 
really such, she loved luxury and the many enjoyments 
which it procures ; her coquetry warmly coveted all that 
was handsome and distinguished ; a daughter of the 
people, she would not have been in any way out of her 
element amidst the most regal sumptuosity. But Made- 
moiselle Musette, who was young and pretty, had never 
consented to be the mistress of any man who was not 
like herself young and handsome. She had been known 


74 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

bravely to refuse the magnificent offers of an old man so 
rich that he was styled the Peru of the Chaussee d'Antin, 
and who had offered a golden ladder to the gratification 
of her fancies. Intelligent and witty, she had also a re- 
pugnance for fools and simpletons, whatever might be 
their age, their title and their name. 

Musette, therefore, was an honest and pretty girl, who 
in love adopted half of Champfort’s famous aphorism, 
“Love is the interchange of two caprices.” Thus her 
connection had never been preceded by one of those 
shameful bargains which dishonour modern gallantry. As 
she herself said, Musette played fair and insisted that she 
should receive full change for her sincerity. 

But if her fancies were lively and spontaneous, they 
were never durable enough to reach the height of a 
passion. And the excessive mobility of her caprices, the 
little care she took to look at the purse and the boots of 
those who wished to be considered amongst them, 
brought about a corresponding mobility in her existence 
which was a perpetual alternation of blue broughams and 
omnibuses, first floors and fifth stories, silken gowns and 
cotton frocks. Oh ! charming girl ! living poem of youth 
with ringing laugh and joyous song ! tender heart beating 
for one and all beneath your half-open bodice ! Oh ! 
Mademoiselle Musette, sister of Bernerette and Mimi 
Pinson, it would need the pen of Alfred de Musset to fitly 
narrate your careless and vagabond course amidst the 
flowery paths of youth ; and he would certainly have 
celebrated you, if like me he had heard you sing in your 
pretty false notes, this couplet from one of your favourite 
ditties : 

“ It was a day in Spring 
When love I strove to sing 
Unto a nut-brown maid. 

O’er face as fair as dawn 
A dainty cap of lawn 
Cast a bewitching shade.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 75 

The story we are about to tell is one of the most charm- 
ing in the life of this charming adventuress who wore so 
many green gowns. 

At a time when she was the mistress of a young Coun- 
sellor of State, who had gallantly placed in her hands the 
key of his ancestral coffers, Mademoiselle Musette was in 
the habit of receiving once a week in her pretty drawing- 
room in the Rue de la Bruyere. These evenings resembled 
most Parisian evenings, with the difference that people 
amused themselves. When there was not enough room 
they sat on one another’s knees, and it olten happened 
that the same glass served for two. Rodolphe, who was 
a friend of Musette and never anything more than a friend, 
without either of them ever knowing why — Rodolphe 
asked leave to bring his friend, the painter Marcel. 

“A young fellow of talent,” he added, “ for whom the 
future is embroidering his Academician’s coat.” 

Bring him,” said Musette. 

The evening they were to go together to Musette’s Ro- 
dolphe called on Marcel to fetch him. The artist was at 
his toilet. 

“What ! ” said Rodolphe, “you are going into society 
in a colored shirt?” 

“ Does that shock custom ? ” observed Marcel quietly. 

“Shock custom ! It stuns it.” 

“The deuce,” said Marcel, looking at his shirt, which 
displayed a pattern of boars pursued by dogs, on a blue 
ground. “I have not another here. Oh ! bah ! so much 
the worse, I will put on a collar, and as ‘Methuselah’ 
buttons to the neck no one will see the color of my linen.” 

“What!” said Rodolphe, uneasily, “you are going to 
wear ‘ Methuselah ’ ? ” 

“Alas I ” replied Marcel, “ I must ; God wills it and my 
tailor too ; besides, it has a new set of buttons, and I have 
just touched it up with ivory black.” 


76 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


** Methuselah” was merely Marcel’s dress coat; he 
called it so because it was the oldest garment of his ward- 
robe. “ Methuselah ” was cut in the fashion of four years 
before and was, besides, of a hideous green, but Marcel 
declared that it looked black by candlelight. 

In five minutes Marcel was dressed, he was attired in 
the most perfect bad taste, the get-up of an art student 
going into society. 

M. Casimir Bonjour will never be so surprised the day 
he learns his election as a member of the Institute as 
were Rodolphe and Marcel on reaching Mademoiselle 
Musette’s. This is the reason of their astonishment. 
Mademoiselle Musette who for some time past had fallen 
out with her lover the Counsellor of State, had been aban- 
doned by him at a very critical juncture. Legal proceedings 
having been taken by her creditors and her landlord, her 
furniture had been seized and carried down into the court- 
yard in order to be taken away and sold on the following 
day. Despite this incident Mademoiselle Musette had 
not for a moment the idea of giving her guests the slip 
and did not put off her party. She had the courtyard 
arranged as a drawing-room, spread a carpet on the pave- 
ment, prepared everything as usual, dressed to receive 
company, and invited all the tenants to her little enter- 
tainment, towards which Heaven contributed its illu- 
mination. 

This jest had immense success ; never had Musette’s 
evenings displayed such go and gaiety ; they were still 
dancing and singing when the porters came to take away 
furniture and carpets, and the company were obliged to 
withdraw. 

Musette bowed her guests out, singing : 

“ They will laugh long and loud, tralala, 

At my Thursday night’s crowd 
They will laugh long and loud, tralala.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 77 

Marcel and Rodolphe alone remained with Musette, 
who ascended to her room where there was nothing left 
but the bed. 

‘‘Ah, but my adventure is no longer such a lively one 
after all,’' said Musette; “I shall have to take up my 
quarters out-of-doors.” 

“Oh! madame,” said Marcel, “ if I had the gifts of 
Plutus I should like to offer you a temple finer than that 
of Solomon, but 

“You are not Plutus. All the same I thank you for 
your good intentions. Ah I ” she added, glancing round 
the room, “I was getting bored here, and then the fur- 
niture was old. I had had it nearly six months. But that 
is not all, after the dance one should sup.” 

“ Let us sup-pose,” said Marcel, who had an itch of 
punning, above all in the morning, when he was terrible. 

As Rodolphe had gained some money at the lansquenet 
played during the evening, he carried off Musette and 
Marcel to a restaurant which was just opening. 

After breakfast, the three, who had no inclination for 
sleep, spoke of finishing the day in the country, and as 
they found themselves close to the railway-station they 
got into the first train that started, and which landed 
them at St. Germain. 

During the whole of the night of the party and all the 
rest of the day Marcel, who was gunpowder which a 
single glance sufficed to kindle, had been violently smit- 
ten by Mademoiselle Musette and paid her “ highly- 
coloured court,” as he put it to Rodolphe. He even went 
so far as to propose to the pretty girl to buy her furniture 
handsomer than the last with the result of the sale of his 
famous picture “The Passage of the Red Sea.” Hence 
the artist saw with pain the moment arrive when it be- 
came necessary to part from Musette, who, whilst allowing 
him to kiss her hands, neck and sundry other accessories, 


78 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

gently repulsed him every time that he tried to violently 
assault her heart. 

On reaching Paris, Rodolphe left his friend with the 
girl, who asked the artist to see her to her door. 

“Will you allow me to call on you.? '’asked Marcel; 
“ I will paint your portrait." 

“ My dear fellow," replied she, “I cannot give you my 
address, since to-morrow I may no longer have one ; but 
I will call and see you, and I will mend your coat, which 
has a hole so big that one could shoot the moon through 
it." 

“ I will await your coming like that of the Messiah," 
said Marcel. 

“Not quite so long," said Musette, laughing. 

“What a charming girl," said Marcel to himself, as he 
slowly walked away ; “she is the Goddess of Mirth. I 
will make two holes in my coat." 

He had not gone twenty paces before he felt himself 
tapped on the shoulder. It was Mademoiselle Musette. 

“ My dear Monsieur Marcel," said she, “ are you a 
true knight ? " 

“ I am. ‘ Rubens and my lady,' that is my motto." 

“Well, then, hearken to my woes and pity take, most 
noble sir," returned Musette, who was slightly tinged with 
literature, although she murdered grammar in fine style ; 
“ the landlord has taken away the key of my room and it 
is eleven o’clock at night. Do you understand.? " 

“I understand," said Marcel offering Musette his arm. 
He took her to his studio on the Quai aux Fleurs. 

Musette was hardly able to keep awake, but she still 
had strength enough to say to Marcel, taking him by the 
hand, “ You remember what you have promised." 

“ Oh ! Musette, charming creature ! " said the artist in 
a somewhat moved tone, “ you are here beneath a 
hospitable roof, sleep in peace. Good-night, I am off." 


Marcel entered with a pot of flowers. 





THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


79 


‘ “ Why so ? ” said Musette, her eyes half closed ; “ I am 
not afraid, I can assure you. In the first place, there are 
two rooms, I will sleep on your sofa. 

‘ ‘ My sofa is too hard to sleep on, it is stuffed with 
carded pebbles. I will give you hospitality here, and ask 
it for myself from a friend who lives on the same landing. 
It will be more prudent,” said he ; “I usually keep my 
word, but I am twenty-two and you are eighteen. 
Musette, — and I am off. Good-night.” 

The next morning at eight o’clock Marcel entered her 
room with a pot of flowers that he had gone and bought 
in the market. He found Musette, who had thrown 
herself fully dressed on the bed, and was still sleeping. 
At the noise made by him she woke, and held out her 
hand. 

“What a good fellow,” said she. 

“ Good fellow,” repeated Marcel, “is not that a term of 
ridicule ? ” * 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Musette, “ why should you say that 
to me ? It is not nice. Instead of saying spiteful things 
offer me that pretty pot of flowers.” 

“It is, indeed, for you that I have brought them up,” 
said Marcel. “ Take it, and in return for my hospitality 
sing me one of your songs. The echo of my garret may 
perhaps retain something of your voice, and I shall still 
hear you after you have departed.” 

“ Oh ! so you want to show me the door ? ” said M usette. 
“Listen, Marcel ; I do not beat about the bush to say what 
my thoughts are. You like me and I like you. It is not 
love, but it is perhaps its seed. Well, I am not going 
away, I am going to stop here, and I shall stay here as 
long as the flowers you have just given me remain 
unfaded. ” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed Marcel, “ they will fade in a couple 
of days. If I had known I would have bought immor- 
telles.” 


80 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

* * * * 5k 

For a fortnight Musette and Marcel lived together, and 
led, although often without money, the most charming 
life in the world. Musette felt for the artist an affection 
which had nothing in common with her preceding 
passions ; and Marcel began to fear that he was seriously 
in love with his mistress. Ignorant that she herself was 
very much afraid of being equally smitten, he glanced 
every morning at the condition of the flowers, the death 
of which was to bring about the severance of their 
connection, and found it very difficult to account for their 
continued freshness. But he soon had a key to the 
mystery. One night, waking up, he no longer found 
Musette beside him. He rose, hastened into the next 
room, and perceived his mistress, who profited nightly 
by his slumbers to water the flowers and hinder them 
from pqrishing. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


81 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE BILLOWS OF PACTOLUS. 

It was the nineteenth of March, 1 84 — . Should Rodolphe 
reach the age of Methuselah, he will never forget the date ; 
for it was on that day, at three in the afternoon, that our 
friend issued from a banker's^ where he had just received 
live hundred francs in current and sounding specie. 

The first use Rodolphe made of this slice of Peru which 
had fallen into his pocket was not to pay his debts, inas- 
much as he had sworn to himself to practise economy and 
go to no extra expense. He had a fixed idea on this sub- 
ject, and declared that before thinking of superfluities, one 
ought to provide for necessaries. Therefore it was that 
he paid none of his creditors, and bought a Turkish pipe 
which he had long coveted. 

Armed with this purchase, he directed his steps towards 
the lodging of his friend Marcel, who had for some time 
given him shelter. As he entered Marcel’s studio, 
Rodolphe’s pockets rang like a village-steeple on a grand 
holiday. On hearing this unusual sound, Marcel supposed 
it was one of his neighbours, a great speculator, counting 
his profits on 'Change, and muttered : “There’s that im- 
pertinent fellow next door beginning his music again ! If 
this is to go on, I shall give notice to the landlord. It’s 
impossible to work with such a noise. It tempts one to 
quit one’s condition of poor artist and turn robber, forty 
times over.” So, never suspecting that it was his friend 
Rodolphe changed into a Croesus, Marcel again set to work 
on his “ Passage of the Red Sea,” which had been on his 
easel nearly three years. 


6 


82 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETEK. 


Rodolphe, who had not yet spoken, meditating an ex- 
periment which he was about to make on his friend, said 
to himself; We shall laugh in a minute. Won't it be 
fun ! and he let fall a five-franc piece on the floor. 

Marcel raised his eyes and looked at Rodolphe, who 
was as grave as an article in the ‘ ‘ Revue des deux Mondes. 
Then he picked up the piece of money with a well-satis- 
fied air, and made a courteous salute to it ; for, vagabond 
artist as he was, he understood the usages of society, and 
was very civil to strangers. Knowing, moreover, that 
Rodolphe had gone out to look for money, Marcel, seeing 
that his friend had succeeded in his operations, contented 
himself with admiring the result, without inquiring by 
what means it had been obtained. Accordingly, he went 
to work again without speaking, and finished drowning an 
Egyptian in the waves of the Red Sea. As he was termi- 
nating this homicide, Rodolphe let fall another piece, 
laughing in his sleeve at the face the painter was going to 
make. 

At the sonorous sound of the metal, Marcel bounded up 
as if he had received an electric shock, and cried : “ What ! 
Number two ! ” 

A third piece rolled on the floor ; then another ; then one 
more ; finally a whole quadrille of five-franc pieces were 
dancing in the room. 

Marcel began to show evident signs of mental alienation ; 
and Rodolphe laughed like the pit of a Parisian theatre at 
the first representation of a very tragical tragedy. Sud- 
denly, and without any warning, he plunged both hands 
into his pockets, and the money rushed out in a super- 
natural steeple-chase. It was an inundation of Pactolus ; 
it was Jupiter entering Danae s chamber. 

Marcel remained silent, motionless, with a fixed stare ; 
his astonishment was gradually operating upon him a 
transformation similar to that which the untimely curiosity 


THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUARTER. 83 

of Lot's wife brought upon her : by the time that Rodolphe 
had thrown his last hundred francs on the floor, the painter 
was petrified all down one side of his body. 

Rodolphe laughed and laughed. Compared with his 
stormy mirth, the thunder of an orchestra of sax-horns 
would have been no more than the crying of a child at 
the breast. 

Stunned, strangled, stupefied by his emotions, Marcel 
thought himself in a dream. To drive away the night- 
mare, he bit his finger till he brought blood, and almost 
made himself scream with pain. He then perceived that, 
though trampling upon money, he was perfectly awake. 
Like a personage in a tragedy, he ejaculated : 

^‘Can I believe my eyes ? ” and then seizing Rodolphe's 
hand, he added : “Explain me this mystery.” 

“ Did I explain it, 'twould be one no more.” 

“Come, now!” 

“This gold is the fruit of the sweat of my brow,” said 
Rodolphe, picking up the money and arranging it on the 
table. He then went a few steps and looked respectfully 
at the five hundred francs ranged in heaps, thinking to 
himself : “ Now, then, my dreams will be realized 1 ” 

“There cannot be much less than six thousand francs 
there,” thought Marcel to himself^ as he regarded the silver 
which trembled on the table. “ Fvean idea ! I shall ask 
Rodolphe to buy my ‘ Passage of the Red Sea. ' ” 

All at once Rodolphe put himself into a theatrical atti- 
tude, and, with great solemnity of voice and gesture, 
addressed the artist : 

‘ • Listen to me, Marcel : the fortune which has dazzled 
your eyes is not the product of vile manoeuvres ; I have 
not sold my pen ; I am rich, but honest. This gold, be- 
stowed by a generous hand, I have sworn to use in labor- 
iously acquiring a serious position — such as a virtuous 
man should occupy. Labour is the most sacred of 
duties-—” 


84 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


“And the horse, the noblest of animals,” interrupted 
Marcel. 

“ Bah ! where did you get that sermon ? Been through 
a course of good sense, no doubt.” 

“Interrupt me not,” replied Rodolphe, “and truce to 
your railleries. They will be blunted against the buckler 
of invulnerable resolution in which I am from this mo- 
ment clad. ” 

“That will do for prologue. Now the conclusion.” 

“This is my design. No longer embarrassed about the 
material wants of life, I am going seriously to work. 
First of all, I renounce my vagabond existence ; I shall 
dress like other people, set up a black coat, and go to 
evening-parties. If you are willing to follow in my foot- 
steps, we will continue to live together ; but you must 
adopt my programme. The strictest economy will preside 
over our life. By proper management we have before us 
three months’ work without any preoccupation. But we 
must be economical.” 

“ My dear fellow,” said Marcel, “economy is a science 
only practicable for rich people ; you and I, therefore, are 
ignorant of its first elements. However, by making an 
outlay of six francs we can have the works of Monsieur 
Jean-Baptiste Say, a very distinguished economist, who 
will perhaps teach us how to practise the art. Hallo ! you 
have a Turkish pipe there ! ” 

“ Yes ; I bought it for twenty-five francs.” 

“How is that? You talk of economy, and give twenty- 
five francs for a pipe.” 

‘‘And this is an economy. I used to break a two-sous 
pipe every day, and at the end of the year that came to a 
great deal more.” 

“ True ; I should never have thought of that.” 

They heard a neighbouring clock strike six. 

‘ ‘ Let us have dinner at once, ” said Rodolphe. ‘ ‘ I mean 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 85 

to begin from to-night. Talking of dinner, it occurs to me 
that we lose much valuable time every day in cooking 
ours; now time is money, so we must economize it. 
From this day we will dine out.” 

“Yes,” said Marcel, “there is a capital restaurant 
twenty steps off. It’s rather dear, but not far to go, so we 
shall gain in time what we lose in money.” 

“We will go there to day,” said Rodolphe, “but to- 
morrow or next day we will adopt a still more economical 
plan. Instead of going to the restaurant, we will hire a 
cook.” 

“ No, no,” put in Marcel, “ we will hire a servant to be 
cook and everything. Just see the immense advantages 
which will result from it. First of all, our rooms will be 
always in order ; he will clean our boots, go of errands, 
wash my brushes ; I will even try and give him a taste 
for the fine arts, and make him grind colours. In this 
way we shall save at least six hours a day.” 

Five minutes after, the two friends were installed in one 
of the little rooms of the restaurant, and continuing their 
schemes of economy. 

“We must get an intelligent lad,” said Rodolphe ; “if 
he has a sprinkling of spelling, I will teach him to write 
articles, and make an editor of him.” 

“That will be a resource for his old age,” said Marcel, 
adding up the bill. “Well, this is dear, rather ! Fifteen 
francs I We used both to dine for a franc and a half” 

“Yes,” replied Rodolphe, “but then we dined so badly 
that we were obliged to sup at night. So, on the whole, 
it is an economy.” 

“You always have the best of the argument,” muttered 
the convinced artist. “ Shall we work to-night? ” 

“No, indeed! I shall go to see my uncle. He is a 
good fellow, and will give me good advice when I tell 
him my new position. And you, Marcel ? ” 


86 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

I shall go to old Medicis to ask him if he has any res- 
torations of pictures to give me. By the way, give me 
five francs.’' 

“ For what?” 

To cross the Pont des Arts.” 

“Two sous to cross a bridge when you can go over an- 
other for nothing ! That is a useless expense ; and, though 
an inconsiderable one, is a violation of our rule.” 

“ I am wrong, to be sure,” said Marcel. “I will take a 
cab and go by the Pont Neuf.” 

So the two friends quitted each other in opposite direc- 
tions, but somehow the different roads brought them to 
the same place, and they didn’t go home till morning. 

Two days after, Rodolphe and Marcel were completely 
metamorphosed. Dressed like two bridegrooms of the 
best society, they were so elegant, and neat, and shining, 
that they hardly recognized each other when they met in 
the street. Still their system of economy was in full 
blast, thought it was not without much difficulty that their 
“organization of labour ’’had been realized. They had 
taken a servant; a big fellow thirty-four years old, of 
Swiss descent, and about as clever as an average donkey. 

But Baptiste was not born to be a servant ; he had a 
soul above his business ; and if one of his masters gave 
him a parcel to carry, he blushed with indignation, and 
sent it by a porter. However, he had some merits ; for 
instance, he could hash hare well ; and his first profes- 
sion having been that of distiller, he passed much of his 
time — or his masters’, rather — in trying to invent a new 
kind of liniment ; he also succeeded in the preparation of 
lamp-black. But where he was unrivalled was in smok- 
ing Marcel’s cigars and lighting them with Rodolphe s 
manuscripts. 

One day Marcel wanted to put Baptiste into costume, 
and make him sit for Pharaoh in his “ Passage of the Red 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


87 


Sea.” To this proposition Baptiste replied by a flat re- 
fusal, and demanded his wages. 

‘‘Very well,” said Marcel, “I will settle with you 
to-night"' 

When Rodolphe returned, his friend declared that they 
must send away Baptiste. “ He is of no use to us at all.” 

“No, indeed — only an ornament, and not much of 
that.” 

“Awfully stupid.” 

“And equally lazy.” 

“We must turn him off.” 

“Let us I ” 

“Still, he has some good points. He hashes hare very 
well.” 

“And the lamp-black! He is a very Raphael for 
that” 

“Yes; but that’s all he is good for. We lose time 
arguing with him.” 

“He keeps us from working.” 

“ He is the cause of my ‘Passage " not being finished 
in time for the Exhibition. He wouldn’t sit for Pharaoh.” 

“ Thanks to him, I couldn’t finish my article in time. 
He wouldn’t go to the public library and hunt up the notes 
I wanted.” 

“ He is ruining us.” 

“Decidedly we can’t keep him.” 

“ Send him away then ! But we must pay him.” 

“That we’ll do. Give me the money, and I will settle 
accounts with him.” 

‘ ‘ Money ! But it is not I who keeps the purse, but 
you.” 

“Not at all ! It \s>you who are charged with the finan- 
cial department.” 

“But I assure you,” said Marcel, “I have no money.” 

“Can there be no more? It is impossible I We can*t 


88 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


have spent five hundred francs in eight days, especially 
living with the most rigid economy as we have done, and 
confining ourselves to absolute necessaries : [absolute 
superfluities, he should have said]. We must look over 
our accounts ; and we shall find where the mistake is." 

“Yes, but we shan’t find where the money is. How- 
ever, let us see the account-book, at any rate." 

And this is the way they kept their accounts, which had 
been begun under the auspices of Saint Economy : 

March 19. Received 500 francs. Paid, a Turkish 
pipe, 2^fr, ; dinner, i^fr. / sundries, ^ofrT 

“What are those sundries?" asked Rodolphe of Marcel, 
who was reading. 

“You know very well," replied the other ; “ that night 
when we didn’t go home till morning. We saved fuel 
and candles by that." 

“ Well, afterwards ? " 

^ March 20, Breakfast, i fr. 50 c. ; tobacco, 20 c. ; 

dinner, 2 fr. ; an opera glass, 2 fr. 50 c. ’ that goes to 

your account. What did you want a glass for? You see 
perfectly well." 

“You know I had to give an account of the Exhibition 
in the ‘ Scarf of Iris.’ It is impossible to criticise paint- 
ings without a glass. The expense is quite legitimate. 
Well ?— ^’ 

“ A bamboo cane " 

' ‘ Ah, that goes to your account, ” said Rodolphe. ‘ ‘ You 
didn’t want a cane." 

“That is all we spent the 20th/’ was Marcel’s only 
answer. “ The 21st we breakfasted out, dined out, and 
supped out.” 

“We ought not to have spent much that day.” 

“ Not much, in fact — hardly thirty francs.” 

“But what for?" 

“ I don’t know ; it’s marked sundries.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


89 


“Vague and treacherous heading ! ” 

“ 2 is/. (The day that Baptiste came.) ^francs iohim 
on account of his wages. 50 centimes to the organ man. ’ ” 
2‘^rd. Nothing set down. 24/A, ditto. Two good 
days 1 ” 

“ ‘ 25/A. Baptiste, on account, It seems to me we 

give him money very often,” said Marcel, by way of re- 
flection. 

‘ ‘ There will be less owing to him, ” said Rodolphe. ‘ ^ Go 
on 1 ” 

“ ‘26/A. Sundries, useful in an artistic point of view, 36 fr.*’* 

“What did we buy that was useful ? I don't recollect. 
What can it have been ? ” 

“You don’t remember ! The day we went to the top 
of Notre Dame for a bird’s-eye view of Paris.” 

“But it costs only eight sous to go up the tower.” 

“Yes, but then we went to dine at Saint Germain after 
we came down.” 

“Clear as mud ! ” 

“ 27/A. Nothing to set down.” 

“ Good ! There’s economy for you.” 

“ ‘ 28/A. Baptiste, on accoufit, 6 fr.'** 

“Now this time I am sure we owe Baptiste nothing 
more. Perhaps he is even in our debt. We must see.” 

“ 29/A. Nothing set down, except the beginning of an 
article on ‘Social Morals.’” 

“30/A. Ah ! we had company at dinner — heavy ex- 
penses the 30th, 55 fr. list. — that’s to-day — we have 
spent nothing yet. You see,” continued Marcel, “the 
account has been kept very carefully, and the total does 
not reach five hundred francs.” 

“Then there ought to be money in the drawer.^' 

“We can see,” said Marcel, opening it. 

“ Anything there ? ” 

“Yes, a spider.” 


90 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“A spider in the morning 
Of sorrow is a warning.” 

hummed Rodolphe. 

“Where the deuce has all the money gone? '’exclaimed 
Marcel, totally upset at the sight of the empty drawer. 

“Very simple," replied Rodolphe. “ Baptiste has had 
it all." 

‘.‘Stop a minute!" cried Marcel, rummaging in the 
drawer, where he perceived a paper. ‘ ‘ The bill for last 
quarter’s rent ! ” 

“ How did it come there ? " 

“ And/>at(i, too,” added Marcel. “You paid the land- 
lord, then I " 

“ Me I Come now ! ” said Rodolphe. 

“But what means " 

“But I assure you ” 

“Oh, what can be this mystery?" sang the two in 
chorus to the final air of “The White Lady.’’ 

Baptiste, who loved music, came running in at once. 
Marcel showed him the paper. 

“Ah, yes," said Baptiste, carelessly, “ I forgot to tell 
you. The landlord came this morning while you were 
out. I paid him, to save him the trouble of coming back. ” 

“ Where did you find the money ? ” 

“ I took it out of the open drawer. I though tj sir, you 
had left it open on purpose, and forgot to tell me to pay 
him, so I did just as if you had told me." 

“Baptiste ! ’’ said Marcel, in a white heat, “you have 
gone beyond your orders. From this day you cease to 
form part of our household. Take off your livery ! ” 

Baptiste took off the glazed leather cap which composed 
his livery, and handed it to Marcel. 

“Very well,’’ said the latter ; “ now you may go.” 

“And my wages? ” 

“Wages? you scamp I You have had fourteen francs 


THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUABTER. 91 

in a little more than a week. What do you do with so 
much money Do you keep a dancer? ” 

“ A. rope-dancer ? ” suggested Rodolphe. 

“Then am I to be left,” said the unhappy domestic, 
“ without a covering for my head ! ” 

“ Take your livery,” said Marcel, moved in spite of 
himself : and he restored the cap to Baptiste. 

“Yet it is that wretch who has wrecked our fortunes,” 
said Rodolphe, seeing poor Baptiste go out “Where 
shall we dine to-day ? ” 

“We shall know to-morrow,” replied Marcel 


92 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE COST OF A FIVE-FRANC-PIECE, 

One Saturday evening, at a time when he had not yet 
gone into housekeeping with Mademoiselle Mimi, who 
will shortly make her appearance, Rodolphe made the ac- 
quaintance, at the table d’hote he frequented, of a ladies’ 
wardrobe keeper, named Mademoiselle Laure. Having 
learned that he was editor of “ The Scarf of Iris ” and of 
“The Beaver,” two fashion papers, the milliner, in the 
hope of getting her goods puffed, commenced a series of 
significant provocations. To these provocations Ro- 
dolphe replied by a pyrotechnical display of madrigals, 
sufficient to moke Benserade, Volture, and all other dealers 
in the fireworks of gallantry jealous ; and at the end of 
the dinner, Mademoiselle Laure, having learned that he 
was a poet, gave him clearly to understand that she was 
not indisposed to accept him as her Petrarch. She even, 
without circumlocution, made an appointment with him 
for the next day. 

“By Jove,” said Rodolphe to himself, as he saw Ma- 
demoiselle Laure home, “this is certainly a very amiable 
young person. She seems to me to have good grammar 
and a tolerably extensive wardrobe. I am quite disposed 
to make her happy.” 

On reaching the door of her house, Mademoiselle 
Laure relinquished Rodolphe’s arm, thanking him for the 
trouble he had taken in accompanying her to such a re- 
mote locality. 

“ Oh ! madame,” replied Rodolphe, bowing to the 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUABTEE. 93 

ground, “I should like you to have lived at Moscow or 
the islands of the Sound, in order to have had the pleas- 
ure of being your escort the longer/’ 

“That would be rather far,” said Laure, affectedly. 

“We could have gone by way of the Boulevards, ma- 
dame,” said Rodolphe. “Allow me to kiss your hand in 
the shape of your cheek,” he added, kissing his com- 
panion on the lips before Laure could make any resist- 
ance. 

“Oh ! sir,” she exclaimed, “you go too fast.” 

“It is to reach my destination the sooner,” said Ro- 
dolphe. “In love, the first stages should be ridden at 
a gallop.” 

“What a funny fellow,” thought the milliner, as she 
entered her dwelling. 

“A pretty girl,” said Rodolphe, as he walked away. 

Returning home, he went to bed at once, and had the 
most delightful dreams. He saw himself at balls, thea- 
tres, and public promenades with Mademoiselle Laure on 
his arm, clad in dresses more magnificent than those of 
the girl with the ass’s skin of the fairy tale. 

The next morning at eleven o’clock, according to habit, 
Rodolphe got up. His first thought was for Mademoiselle 
Laure. 

“She is a very well mannered woman,” he murmured ; 
“I feel sure that she was brought up at Saint Denis. I 
shall at length realize the happiness of having a mistress 
who is not pitted with the small-pox. Decidedly I will 
make sacrifices for her. I will go and draw my screw at 
* The Scarf of Iris.’ I will buy some gloves ; and I will 
take Laure to dinner at a restaurant where table-napkins 
are in use. My coat is not up to much,” said he, as he 
dressed himself; “but, bah ! black is good wear.” 

And he went out to go to the office of “The Scarf of 
Iris.” 


94 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

Crossing the street, he came across an omnibus, on the 
side of which was pasted a bill, with the words, “Dis- 
play of Fountains at Versailles, to-day, Sunday.'’ 

A thunderbolt falling at Rodolphe’s feet would not have 
produced a deeper impression upon him than the sight of 
this bill. 

“To-day, Sunday ! I had forgotten it,” he exclaimed. 
“I shall not be able to get any money. To-day, Sun- 
day ! ! ! All the spare coin in Paris is on its way to 
Versailles.” 

However, impelled by one of those fabulous hopes to 
which a man always clings, Rodolphe hurried to the office 
of the paper, reckoning that some happy chance might 
have taken the cashier there. 

Monsieur Boniface had, indeed, looked in for a moment, 
but had left at once. 

* ' For Versailles,” said the office messenger to Rodolphe. 

“Come,” said Rodolphe, “it is all over! .... But 
let me see,” he thought, “my appointment is for this 
evening. It is noon, so I have five hours to find five 
francs in — twenty sous an hour, like the horses in the 
Bois de Boulogne. Forward.” 

As he found himself in a neighbourhood where the jour- 
nalist, whom he styled the influential critic, resided, Ro- 
dolphe thought of having a try at him. 

“ I am sure to find him in,” said he, as he ascended the 
stairs ; “it is the day he writes his criticism — there is no 
fear of his being out. I will borrow five francs of him.” 

“Hallo! it’s you, is it?” said the journalist, on seeing 
Rodolphe. “You come at the right moment. I have a 
slight service to ask of you.” 

“How lucky it falls out,” thought the editor of “The 
Scarf of Iris.” 

“ Were you at the Odeon Theatre last night?” 

“ I am always at the Odeon.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. 05 

You have seen the new piece, then ? ” 

“Who else would have seen it.? I am the Odeon 
audience.’" 

“That is true,” said the critic, “you are one of the 
caryatides of the theatre. It is even rumoured that it is 
you who find the money for its subvention. Well, this is 
what I want of you, a summary of the plot of the new 
piece. ” 

“That is easy, I have the memory of a creditor.” 

Whom is this piece by .? ” asked the critic of Rodolphe, 
whilst the latter was writing. 

“A gentleman.” 

“It cannot be up to much.” 

“Well, it is not as strong as a Turk.” 

“Then it cannot be very robust. The Turks, you see, 
have usurped a reputation for strength. Besides, there are 
no longer any Turks except at masked balls and in the 
ChampS'Elysees where they sell dates. One of my friends 
knows the East and he assures me that all the natives of 
it were born in the Rue Coquenard.” 

“ That is smart,” said Rodolphe. 

“You think so.?” observed the critic; “I will put it 
in my article. ” 

“Here is my analysis of the piece, it is to the point,” 
resumed Rodolphe. 

“Yes, but it is short.” 

“By putting in dashes and developing your critical opin- 
ion it will fill some space.” 

“I have scarcely time, my dear fellow, and then my 
critical opinion will not fill enough space either.” 

“You can stick in an adjective at every third word.” 

“Cannot you tail on to your analysis a little, or rather 
a long criticism of the piece, eh .? ” asked the critic. 

“Humph,” said Rodolphe. “I have certainly some 
opinions upon tragedy, but I have printed them three 
times in 'The Beaver’ and ‘The Scarf of Iris.’” 


96 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“No matter, how many lines do your opinions fill.?" 

“Forty lines." 

“ The deuce, you have strong opinions. Well, lend me 
your forty lines." 

“Good,” thought Rodolphe, “if I turn out twenty 
francs' worth of copy for him he cannot refuse me five. 
I must warn you,” said he to the critic, “ that my opinions 
are not quite novel. They are rather worn at the elbows. 
Before printing them I yelled them in every cafe in Paris. 
There is not a waiter who does not know them by heart." 

“What does that matter to me? You surely do not 
know me. Is there anything new in the world except 
virtue ? ” 

“Here you are,” said Rodolphe, as he finished. 

“ Thunder and tempests, there is still nearly a column 
wanting. How is this chasm to be filled ? ” exclaimed the 
critic. “Since you are here, supply me with some para- 
doxes. ” 

“I have not any about me,” said Rodolphe, though I 
can lend you some. Only they are not mine, I bought 
them for half a franc from one of my friends who was in 
distress. They have seen very little use as yet." 

“Very good,” said the critic. 

“ Ah ! ” said Rodolphe to himself, setting to write again. 
“I shall certainly ask him for ten francs, just now para- 
doxes are as dear as partridges.” And he wrote some 
thirty lines containing nonsense about pianos, gold-fish and 
Rhine wine, which was called a toilet-wine just as we 
speak of toilet vinegar. 

“ It is very good,” said the critic. “Now do me the 
favour to add that the place where one meets more honest 
folk than anywhere else in the world is the galleys." 

“Why?” 

“To fill a couple of lines. Good, now it is finished," 
said the influential critic, summoning his servant to take 
the article to the printers. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 97 

“And now," thought Rodolphe, “let us strike home." 
And he gravely proposed his request. 

“Ah ! my dear fellow," said the critic, “I have not a 
sou in the place. Lolotte ruins me inpommade, and just 
now she stripped me of my last copper to go to Versailles 
and see the Nereids and the brazen monsters spout forth 
floods. " 

“To Versailles. But it is an epidemic!" exclaimed 
Rodolphe. 

“But why do you want money ? " 

“This is my story," replied Rodolphe ; “ I have at five 
this evening an appointment with a lady, a very well-bred 
lady who never goes out save in an omnibus. I wish to 
unite my fortunes with hers for a few days, and it appears 
to me the right thing to enable her to take the pleasures of 
this life. For dinner, dances, etc., etc., I must have five 
francs, and if I do not find them French literature is 
dishonoured in my person." 

“Why don’t you borrow the sum of the lady herself.^" 
exclaimed the critic. 

“The first time of meeting, it is hardly possible. 
Only you can get me out of this fix. " 

“By all the mummies of Egypt I give you my word of 
honour that I have not enough to buy a sou pipe. How- 
ever, I have some books that you can sell.” 

“Impossible to-day. Mother Mansut’s, Lebigre’s, and 
all the shops on the quays and in the Rue Saint Jacques 
are closed. What books are they ? Volumes of poetry 
with a portrait of the author in spectacles.^ But such 
things never sell." 

“Unless the author is criminally convicted," said the 
critic. “Wait a bit, here are some romances and some 
concert tickets. By setting about it skilfully you may, 
perhaps, make money of them." 

“I would rather have something else, a pair of trousers, 
for instance." 


98 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. 


“Come/' said the critic, “take this copy of Bossuet and 
this plaster cast of Monsieur Odilon Barrot. On my word 
of honour it is the widow’s mite.” 

“I see that you are doing your best,” said Rodolphe. 
“I will take away these treasures, but if I get thirty sous 
out of them I shall regard it as the thirteenth labour of 
Hercules.” 

After having covered about four leagues Rodolphe, by 
the aid of an eloquence of which he had the secret on great 
occasions, succeeded in getting his washerwoman to lend 
him two francs on the volumes of poetry, the romances 
and the bust of Monsieur Barrot.” 

“Come,” said he, as he re crossed the Seine, “ here is 
the sauce, now I must find the dish itself. Suppose I go 
to my uncle.” 

Half an hour later he was at his Uncle Monetti’s, who 
read upon his nephew's face what was the matter. Hence 
he put himself on guard and forestalled any request by a 
series of complaints, such as ; 

“Times are hard, bread is dear, debtors do not pay up, 
rents are terribly high, commerce decaying, etc., etc.,” 
all the hypocritical litany of shopkeepers. 

“Would you believe it,” said the uncle, “that I have 
been forced to borrow money from my shopman to meet 
a bill?” 

“You should have sent to me,” said Rodolphe. “I 
would have lent it you, I received two hundred francs 
three days ago.” 

“Thanks, my lad,” said the uncle; “ but you have 
need of your fortune. Ah ! whilst you are here, you 
might, you who write such a good hand, copy out some 
bills for me that I want to send out.” 

“My five francs are going to cost me dear,” said Ro- 
dolphe to himself, setting about the task, which he con- 
densed. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


99 


“My dear uncle/' said he to Monetti, “I knowhow 
fond you are of music and I have brought you some con- 
cert tickets." 

“You are very kind, my boy. Will you stay to din- 
ner ? " 

“Thanks, uncle, but I am expected at dinner in the 
Faubourg Saint Germain ; indeed, I am rather put out 
about it for I have not time to run home and get the 
money to buy gloves.” 

“You have no gloves; shall I lend you mine?” said 
his uncle. 

“Thanks, we do not take the same size, only you 
would greatly oblige me by the loan of ” 

“Twenty-nine sous to buy a pair? Certainly, my boy, 
here you are. When one goes into society one should be 
well dressed. Better be envied than pitied, as your aunt 
used to say. Come, I see you are getting on in the world, 
so much the better. I would have given you more, he 
went on, “ but it is all I have in the till. I should have to 
go upstairs and I cannot leave the shop, customers drop 
in every moment.” 

“You were saying that business was not flourishing ? ” 

Uncle Monetti pretended not to hear, and said to his 
nephew who was pocketing the twenty-nine sous : 

“Do not be in a hurry about repayment.” 

“What a screw,” said Rodolphe, bolting. “Ah ! ” he 
continued, ‘ ‘ there are still thirty-one sous lacking. Where 
am I to find them ? I know ; let’s be off to the cross-roads 
of Providence.” 

This was the name bestowed by Rodolphe on the most 
central point in Paris, that is to say, the Palais Royal ; a 
spot where it is almost impossible to remain ten minutes 
without meeting ten people of one’s acquaintance, credi- 
tors above all. Rodolphe therefore went and stationed 
himself at the entrance to the Palais Royal. This time 


100 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUAETER. 


Providence was long in coming. At last Rodolphe caught 
sight of it. Providence had a white hat, a green coat, and 
a gold-headed cane — a well-dressed Providence. 

It was a rich and obliging young fellow, although a 
phalansterian.* 

“lam delighted to see you," said he to Rodolphe. 
“Come and walk a little way with me ; we can have a 
talk. " 

“So I am to have the infliction of the phalanstere," 
murmured Rodolphe, suffering himself to be led away by 
the wearer of the white hat, who, indeed, phalanstered 
him to the utmost. 

As they drew near the Pont des Arts Rodolphe said to 
his companion — 

“ I must leave you, not having sufficient to pay the toll.** 

“ Nonsense," said the other, catching hold of Rodolphe 
and throwing two sous to the toll-keeper. 

“This is the right moment," thought the editor of 
“The Scarf of Iris," as they crossed the bridge. Arrived 
at the further end in front of the clock of the Institute, 
Rodolphe stopped short, pointed to the dial with a de- 
spairing gesture, and exclaimed : — 

“Confound it all, a quarter to five ! I am done for." 

“What is the matter? " cried his astonished friend. 

“The matter is," said Rodolphe, “that, thanks to your 
dragging me here in spite of myself, I have missed an 
appointment. " 

“An important one? " 

“I should think so; money that I was to call for at 

five o’clock at Batignolles. I shall never be able to 

get there. Hang it ; what am I to do ? " 

“Why," said the phalansterian," nothing is simpler; 
come home with me, and I will lend you some." 

* The phalansterian school, a species of communism, was founded by * 
Francois Fourrier, the phalanstere being the phalanx of adepts.— 
Trans. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 101 

‘‘Impossible ; you live at Montrouge, and I have busi- 
ness at six o’clock at the Chaussee d’Antin. Confound 
it." 

“ I have a trifle about me," said Providence, timidly, 
“ but it is very little." 

“If I had enough to take a cab I might get to Batig- 
nolles in time." 

“ Here is the contents of my purse, my dear fellow, 
thirty-one sous." 

“Give it me at once, that I may bolt," said Rodolphe, 
who had just heard five o’clock strike, and who hastened 
off to keep his appointment. 

“It has been hard to get," said he, counting out his 
money. “A hundred sous exactly. At last I am sup- 
plied, and Laure will see that she has to do with a man 
who knows how to do things properly. I won’t take a 
centime home this evening. We must rehabilitate litera- 
ture, and prove that its votaries only need money to be 
wealthy." 

Rodolphe found Mademoiselle Laure at the trysting- 
place. 

“Good," said he, “for punctuality she is a feminine 
chronometer. " 

He spent the evening with her, and bravely melted down 
his five francs in the crucible of prodigality. Mademoi- 
selle Laure was charmed with his manners, and was good 
enough only to notice that Rodolphe had not escorted 
her home at the moment when he was ushering her into 
his own room. 

“ I am committing a fault," said she. “ Do not make 
me repent of it by the ingratitude which is the characteris- 
tic of your sex." 

“ Madame," said Rodolphe, “ I am known for my con- 
stancy. It is such that all my friends are astonished at 
my fidelity, and have nicknamed me the General Bertrand 
of Love. " 


102 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEE. 


CHAPTER IX. 

THE WHITE VIOLETS. 

About this time Rodolphe was very much in love with 
his cousin Angela, who couldn’t bear him ; and the ther- 
mometer was twelve degrees below freezing-point. 

Mademoiselle Angela was the daughter of Monsieur 
Monetti, the chimney-doctor, of whom we have already 
had occasion to speak. She was eighteen years old and had 
just come from Burgundy, where she had lived five years 
with a relative who was to leave her all her property. 
This relative was an old lady who had never been young 
apparently — certainly never handsome, but had always 
been very ill-natured, although — or perhaps because — 
very superstitious. Angela, who at her departure was a 
charming child, and promised to be a charming girl, came 
back at the end of the five years a pretty enough young 
lady, but cold, dry and uninteresting. Her secluded pro- 
vincial life, and the narrow and bigoted education she 
had received, had filled her mind with vulgar prejudices, 
shrunk her imagination, and converted her heart into a 
sort of organ, limited to fulfilling its function of ph)^sical 
balance-wheel. You might say that she had holy water 
in her veins instead of blood. She received her cousin 
with an icy reserve ; and he lost his time whenever he 
attempted to touch the chord of her recollections — recollec- 
tions of the time when they had sketched out that 
flirtation in the Paul-and-Virginia style which is traditional 
between cousins of different sexes. Still Rodolphe was 
very much in love with his cousin Angela, who couldn’t 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEB. 103 

bear him ; and learning one day that the young lady was 
going shortly to the wedding-ball of one of her friends, 
he made bold to promise Angela a bouquet of violets for 
the ball. And after asking permission of her father, An- 
gela accepted her cousin’s gallant offer — always on con- 
dition that the violets should be white. 

Overjoyed at his cousin’s amiability, Rodolphe danced 
and sang his way back to Mount St. Bernard, as he called 
his lodging — why will be seen presently. As he passed 
by a florist’s in crossing the Palais Royal, he saw some 
white violets in the show-case, and was curious enough 
to ask their price. A presentable bouquet could not be had 
for less than ten francs ; there were some that cost more. 

“The deuce!” exclaimed Rodolphe, “ten francs! 
ind only eight days to find this fortune ! It will be a hard 
pull, but never mind, my cousin shall have her flowers.” 

This happened in the time of Rodolphe’s literary genesis, 
as the transcendentalists would say. His only income at 
that period was an allowance of fifteen francs a month, 
made him by a friend, who, after living a long while in 
Paris as a poet, had, by the help of influential acquaint- 
ances, gained the mastership of a provincial school. 
Rodolphe, who was the child of prodigality, always spent 
his allowance in four days ; and, not choosing to abandon 
his holy but not very profitable profession of elegiac poet, 
lived for the rest of the month on the rare droppings 
from the basket of Providence. This long Lent had no 
terrors for him ; he passed through it gaily, thanks to his 
stoical temperament and to the imaginary treasures which 
he expended every day while waiting for the first of the 
month, that Easter which terminated his fast. He lived 
at this time at the very top of one of the loftiest houses in 
Paris. His room was shaped like a belvidere, and was a 
delicious habitation in summer, but from October to April 
a perfect’little Kamschatka. The four cardinal winds which 


104 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


penetrated by the four windows, — there was one on each 
of the four sides — made fearful music in it throughout the 
cold seasons. Then, in irony as it were, there was a huge 
fireplace, the immense chimney of which seemed a gate 
of honour reserved for Boreas and his retinue. On the first 
attack of cold, Rodolphe had recourse to an original sys- 
tem of warming; he cut up successively what little furni- 
ture he had, and at the end of a week his stock was con- 
siderably abridged ; in fact, he had only a bed and two 
chairs left ; it should be remarked that these three articles 
were insured against fire by their nature, being of iron. 
This manner of heating himself he called moving up ihe 
chimney. 

It was January, and the thermometer, which indicated 
twelve degrees below freezing-point on the Spectacle 
Quay, would have stood two or three lower if moved to 
the belvidere, which Rodolphe called indifferently Mount 
St. Bernard, Spitzenberg, and Siberia. The night when 
he had promised his cousin the white violets, he was 
seized with a great rage on returning home ; the four 
cardinal winds, in playing puss-in-the-corner round his 
chamber, had broken a pane of glass — the third time in a 
fortnight. After exploding in a volley of frantic impreca- 
tions upon Eolus and all his family, and plugging up the 
breach with a friend’s portrait, Rodolphe lay down, 
dressed as he was, between his two mattresses, and 
dreamed of white violets all night. 

At the end of five days, Rodolphe had found nothing to 
help him toward realizing his dream. He must have the 
bouquet the day after to-morrow. Meanwhile, the 
thermometer fell still lower, and the luckless poet was 
ready to despair as he thought that the violets might have 
risen higher. Finally his good angel had pity on him, 
and came to his relief as follows. 

One morning, Rodolphe went to take his chance of get- 


The widow’s call. 






TUL' liOHEJIlANS OF THE I.ATIN QUARTER. 105 

ting: a breakfast from his friend Marcel the painter, and 
found him conversing with a woman in mourning. It 
was a widow who had just lost her husband, and who 
wanted to know how much it would cost to paint on the 
tomb which she had erected, a mans hand, with this in- 
scription beneath ; 

I WAIT FOR HER TO WHOM MY FAITH WAS PLIGHTED.” 

To get the work at a cheaper rate, she observed to the 
artist that when she was called to rejoin her husband, he 
would have another hand to paint— hand with a brace- 
let on the wrist and the supplementary line beneath : 

“at length, behold us thus once more united.” 

“I shall put this clause in my will,” she said, “and 
require that the task be intrusted to you.” 

“In that case, madame,” replied the artist, “ I will do 
it at the price you offer — but only in the hope of seeing 
yourha7id. Don’t go and forget me in your will.” 

“I should like to have this as soon as possible,” said 
the disconsolate one ; “nevertheless, take your time to 
do it well ; and don’t forget the scar on the thumb. I 
want a living hand.” 

“Don’t be afraid, madame, it shall be a speaking one,’' 
said Marcel, as he bowed the widow out. But hardly 
had she crossed the threshold when she returned, saying, 

“I have one thing more to ask you, sir ; I should like 
to have inscribed on my husband’s tomb something in 
verse which would tell of his good conduct and his last 
words. Is that good style ? ” 

“Very good style — they call that an epitaph — the very 
best style.” 

“You don’t know any one who would do that for me 
cheap } There is my neighbour Monsieur Guerin, the 
public writer, but he asks the clothes off my back.” 


106 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

Here Rodolphe darted a look at Marcel, who under- 
stood him at once. 

“Madame,” said the artist, pointing to Rodolphe, “a 
happy fortune has conducted hither the very person who 
can be of service to you in this mournful juncture. This 
gentleman is a renowned poet ; you couldn't find a 
better. ” 

“ I want something very melancholy,” said the widow, 
“and the spelling all right.” 

“Madame,” replied Marcel, my friend spells like a 
book. He had all the prizes at school.” 

“Indeed !” said the widow, “my grand-nephew has 
just had a prize, too ; he is only seven years old.” 

“ A very forward child, madame.” 

“But are you sure that the gentleman can make very 
melancholy verses ? ” 

“ No one better, madame, for he has undergone much 
sorrow in his life. The papers always find fault with his 
verses for being too melancholy.” 

“What!” cried the widow, “do they talk about him 
in the papers ? He must know quite as much, then, as 
Monsieur Guerin, the public writer.” 

“And a great deal more. Apply to him, madame, and 
you will not repent of it.” 

After having explained to Rodolphe the sort of inscrip- 
tion in verse which she wished to place on her husband's 
tomb, the widow agreed to give Rodolphe ten francs if it 
suited her — only she must have it very soon. The poet 
promised she should have it the very next day. 

“ Oh, good genius of an Artemisia I ” cried Rodolphe, 
as the widow disappeared. “I promise you that you 
shall be suited — full allowance of melancholy lyrics, bet- 
ter got up than a duchess, orthography and all. Good old 
lady 1 May Heaven reward you with a life of a hundred 
and seven years — equal to that of good brandy ! ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


107 


“I object,” said Marcel. 

“ That’s true,” said Rodolphe ; I forgot that you have 
her hand to paint, and that so long a life would make you 
lose money ;” and lifting his hands he gravely ejaculated : 
“Heaven, do not grant my prayer ! Ah I ” he continued, 
“ I was in jolly good luck to come here.” 

“By the way,” asked Marcel, “ what did you want ? ” 

“I recollect — and now especially that I have to pass 
the night in making these verses, I cannot do without 
what I came to ask you for, namely, first, some dinner ; 
secondly, tobacco and a candle ; thirdly, your polar-bear 
costume. ” 

“ To go to the masked ball ? ” 

“No, indeed, but as you see me here, I am as much 
frozen up as the grand army in the retreat from Russia. 
Certainly my green frock-coat and Scotch-plaid trousers 
are very pretty, but much too summery ; they would do 
to live under the equator ; but for one who lodges near 
the pole, as I do, a white bear skin is more suitable; 
indeed I may say necessary.” 

“Take the fur ! ” said Marcel ; “it’s a good idea ; warm 
as a dish of charcoal ; you will be like a roll in an oven 
in it. ” 

Rodolphe was already inside the animal’s skin. 

“Now,” said he, “the thermometer is going to be sold 
a trifle.” 

“Are you going out so? ’’said Marcel to his friend, 
after they had finished an ambiguous repast served in a 
penny dish. 

“I just am,” replied Rodolphe ; “ do you think I care for 
public opinion ? Besides, to-day is the beginning of 
carnival. ” 

He went half over Paris with all the gravity of the 
beast whose skin he occupied. Only on passing before 
a thermometer in an optician’s window he couldn’t help 
taking a sight at it. 


108 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUABTER. 

Having returned home not without causing great terror 
to his porter, Rodolphe lit his candle, carefully surround- 
ing it with an extempore shade of paper to guard it 
against the malice of the winds, and set to work at once. 
But he was not long in perceiving that if his body was 
almost entirely protected from the cold, his hands were 
not ; a terrible numbness seized his fingers which let the 
pen fall. 

“ The bravest man cannot struggle against the 
elements,’' said the poet, falling back helpless in his 
chair. “Caesar passed the Rubicon, but he could not 
have passed the Beresina.” 

All at once he uttered a cry of joy from the depths of 
his bear-skin breast, and jumped up so suddenly as to 
overturn some of his ink on its snowy fur. He had an 
idea ! 

Rodolphe drew from beneath his bed a considerable 
mass of papers, among which were a dozen huge 
manuscripts of his famous drama, “The Avenger.” This 
drama, on which he had spent two years, had been made, 
unmade, and re-made so often that all the copies together 
weighed fully fifteen pounds. He put the last version on 
one side, and dragged the others towards the fireplace. 

“I was sure that with patience I should dispose of it 
somehow,” he exclaimed. “What a pretty fagot ! If I 
could have foreseen what would happen, I could have 
written a prologue, and then I should have more fuel to- 
night. But one can’t foresee everything. ” He lit some 
leaves of the manuscript, in the flame of which he thawed 
his hands. In five minutes the first act of “ The 
Avenger” was over, and Rodolphe had written three 
verses of his epitaph. 

It would be impossible to describe the astonishment of 
the four winds when they felt fire in the chimney. 

“It’s an illusion,” quoth Boreas, as he amused himself 
by brushing back the hair of Rodolphe’s bear-skin. 



He lit some leaves of the manuscript 


• • 





P,-: . ly , . 

; ■• Jei’ .-.y • 





P s • 


\mSS^} 




-i ■ ■ /'.. 


'i: c^-:>:v ' '.i ; , 

i^' 7 y r ■ ■ ’.‘yt'irJt-! 




^‘J . -C:. ' . ■ '-■J 

■-'■•fti,'. ■; ^ -iS • -. 




«L. w% 





THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETER. 


109 


Let’s blow down the pipe, ’’.suggested another wind, 
“ and make the chimney smoke.” But just as they were 
about to plague the poor poet, the south wind perceived 
Monsieur Arago at a window of the Observatory threat- 
ening them with his finger ; so they all made off, for fear 
of being put under arrest. Meanwhile the second act of 
“The Avenger ” was going off with immense success, 
and Rodolphe had written ten lines. But he only achieved 
two during the third act. 

“ I always thought that third act too short,” said 
Rodolphe ; “ luckily the next one will take longer ; there 
are twenty-three scenes in it, including the great one of 
the throne.” As the last flourish of the throne-scene went 
up the chimney in fiery flakes, Rodolphe had only three 
couplets more to write. “Now for the last act. This is 
all monologue. It may last five minutes.” The catas- 
trophe flashed and smouldered, and Rodolphe in a mag- 
nificent transport of poetry had enshrined in lyric stanzas 
the last words of the illustrious deceased. “There is 
enough left for a second representation,” said he, pushing 
the remainder of the manuscript under his bed. 

At eight o’clock next evening, Mademoiselle Angela 
entered the ball-room ; in her hand was a splendid nose- 
gay of white violets, and among them two budding roses, 
white also. During the whole night men and women 
were complimenting the young girl on her bouquet. An- 
gela could not but feel a little grateful to her cousin who 
had procured this little triumph for her vanity ; and per- 
haps she would have thought more of him but for the 
gallant persecutions of one of the bride’s relatives who had 
danced several times with her. He was a fair haired 
youth, with a magnificent moustache curled up at the ends, 
to hook innocent hearts. The bouquet had been pulled to 
pieces by everybody ; only the two white roses were left. 
'I'he young man asked Angela for them ; she refused — only 


110 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

to forget them after the ball on a bench, whence the young 
fair-haired youth hastened to take them. 

At that moment it was fourteen degrees below freezing- 
point in Rodolphe’s belvidere. He was leaning against 
his window looking out at the lights in the ball-room, 
where his cousin Angela, who didn’t care for him, was 
dancing. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


Ill 


CHAPTER X. 

THE CAPE OF STORMS. 

In the opening month of each of the four seasons there 
are some terrible epochs, usually about the ist and the 
15th. Rodolphe, who could not witness the approach of 
one or the other of these two dates without alarm, nick- 
named them the Cape of Storms. On these mornings it 
is not Aurora who opens the portals of the East, but credi- 
tors, landlords, bailiffs and their kidney. The day begins 
with a shower of bills and accounts and winds up with a 
hailstorm of protests. Dies ires. 

Now one morning, it was a 15th of April, Rodolphe was 
peacefully slumbering — and dreaming that one of his 
uncles had just bequeathed him a whole province in Peru, 
the feminine inhabitants included. 

Whilst he was wallowing in this imaginary Pactolus, 
the sound of a key turning in the lock interrupted the heir 
presumptive just at the most dazzling point of his golden 
dream. 

Rodolphe sat up in bed, his eyes and mind yet heavy 
with slumber, and looked about him. 

He vaguely perceived standing in the middle of his room 
a man who had just entered. 

This early visitor bore a bag slung at his back and a 
large pocket-book in his hand. He wore a cocked hat 
and a bluish-grey swallow-tailed coat and seemed very 
much out of breath from ascending the five flights of stairs. 
His manners were very affable and his steps sounded as 
sonorously as that of a money changer s counter on the 
march. 


112 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


Rodolphe was alarmed for a moment, and at the sight 
of the cocked-hat and the coat thought that he had a police- 
officer before him. 

But the sight of the tolerably well-filled bag made him 
perceive his mistake. 

“Ah! I have it,” thought he, “it is something on ac- 
count of my inheritance; this man comes from the West 
Indies. But in that case why is he not black?” 

And making a sign to the man, he said, pointing to the 
bag, “I know all about it. Put it down there. Thanks.” 

The man was a messenger of the bank of France. He 
replied to Rodolphe’s request by holding before his eyes 
a small strip of paper covered with writing and figures in 
various coloured inks. 

“You want a receipt,” said Rodolphe. “That is right. 
Pass me the pen and ink. There, on the table.” 

“ No, I have come to take money,” replied the messen- 
ger. “ An acceptance for a hundred and fifty francs. It 
is the 1 5th of April. ” 

“Ah I” observed Rodolphe, examining the acceptance. 

“ Pay to the order of Birmann. It is my tailor. Alas,” 

he added, in melancholy tones casting his eyes alter- 
nately upon a frock-coat thrown on the bed and upon the 
acceptance, “ causes depart, but effects return. What, it 
is the 15th of April? It is extraordinary, I have not yet 
had any strawberries this year.” 

The messenger, weary of delay, left the room, saying to 
Rodolphe, “ You have till four o’clock to pay.” 

“There is no time like the present,” replied Rodolphe. 
“ The humbug, ” he added regretfully, following the cocked 
hat with his eyes, “he has taken away his bag.” 

Rodolphe drew the curtains of his bed and tried to re- 
trace the path to his inheritance, but he made a mistake 
on the road and proudly entered into a dream in which the 
manager of the Theatre Fran9ais came hat in hand to ask 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 113 

him for a drama for his theatre, and in which he, aware 
of the customary practice, asked for an advance. But at 
the very moment when the manager appeared to be will- 
ing to comply, the sleeper was again half awakened by 
the entry of a fresh personage, another creature of the 
15th. 

It was Monsieur Benoit, landlord of the lodging-house 
in which Rodolphe was residing. Monsieur Benoit was 
at once the landlord, the bootmaker and the money-lender 
of his lodgers. On this morning he exhaled a frightful 
odour of bad brandy and over-due rent He carried an 
empty bag in his hand. 

“ The deuce,” thought Rodolphe, this is not the mana- 
ger of the Theatre Fran^ais, he would have a white cravat 
and the bag would be full.” 

“ Good morning. Monsieur Rodolphe,” said Monsieur 
Benoit, approaching the bed. 

** Monsieur Benoit ! Good morning. What has given 
me the pleasure of this visit?” 

‘‘ I have come to remind you that it is the 15th of 
April.” 

“ Already ! How time flies, it is extraordinary, I must 
see about buying a pair of summer trousers. The 15th of 
April. Good heavens I I should never have thought of 
it but for you, Monsieur Benoit. What gratitude I owe 
you for this ! ” 

‘‘You also owe me a hundred and sixty-two francs,” 
replied Monsieur Benoit, “and it is time this little account 
was settled.” 

“I am not in any absolute hurry — do not put yourself 
out. Monsieur Benoit. I will give you time.” 

“ But, ” said the landlord, “you have already put me 
off several times.” 

“In that case let us come to a settlement, Monsieur 
Benoit, let us come to a settlement, it is all the same to me 

8 


114 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


to-day as to-morrow. Besides we are all mortal. Let us 
come to a settlement ” 

An amiable smile smoothed the landlord’s wrinkles and 
even his empty bag swelled with hope. 

“What do I owe you?” asked Rodolphe. 

“In the first place, we have three months’ rent at 
twenty-five francs, that makes seventy-five francs.” 

‘ ‘ Errors excepted , ” said Rodolphe. ‘ ‘And then ? ” 

“Then three pairs of boots at twenty francs.” 

“One moment, one moment, Monsieur Benoit, do not 
let us mix matters, this is no longer to do with the land- 
lord but the bootmaker. I want a separate account. Ac- 
counts are a serious thing ; we must not get muddled. ” 

“Very good,” said Monsieur Benoit, softened by the 
hope of at length writing “ Paid ” at the foot of his ac- 
counts. ^ ‘ Here is a special bill for the boots. Three pairs 
of boots at twenty francs, sixty francs.” 

Rodolphe cast a look of pity on a pair of worn-out boots. 

‘‘Alas ! ” he thought, “they could not be worse if they 
had been worn by the Wandering Jew. Yet it was in 
running after Marie that they got so worn out. — Goon, 
Monsieur Benoit” 

“We were saying sixty francs,” replied the latter. 
“Then money lent, twenty-seven francs.” 

“Stop a bit. Monsieur Benoit We agreed that each 
dog should have his kennel. It is as a friend that you 
lent me money. Therefore, if you please, let us quit the 
regions of bootmaking and enter those of confidence and 
friendship which require a separate account How much 
does your friendship for me amount to ? ” 

“Twenty-seven francs.” 

“Twenty-seven francs. You have purchased a friend 
cheaply. Monsieur Benoit In short, we were saying, 
seventy-five, sixty, and twenty-seven. That makes alto- 
gether ? 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 115 

hundred and sixty-two francs,” said Monsieur Ben- 
oit, presenting the three bills. 

‘‘A hundred and sixty-two francs,” observed Rodolphe, 
"‘it is extraordinary. What a fine thing arithmetic is. 
Well, Monsieur Benoit, now that the account is settled we 
can both rest easy ; we know exactly how we stand. 
Next month I will ask you for a receipt, and as during 
this time the confidence and friendship you must enter- 
tain towards me can only increase, you can, in case it 
should become necessary, grant me a further delay. How- 
ever, if the landlord and the bootmaker are inclined to be 
hasty, I would ask the friend to get them to listen to rea- 
son. It is extraordinary. Monsieur Benoit, but every time 
I think of your triple character as a landlord, a boot- 
maker, and a friend, I am tempted to believe in the 
Trinity.” 

Whilst listening to Rodolphe the landlord had turned at 
one and the same time red, green, white, and yellow, and 
at each fresh jest from his lodger that rainbow of anger 
grew deeper and deeper upon his face. 

“Sir, "said he, “I do not like to be made game of. I 
having waited long enough. I give you notice to quit, 
and unless you let me have some money this evening, I 
know what I shall have to do.” 

“ Money ! money ! Am I asking you for money ! ” said 
Rodolphe. “Besides if I had any, I should not give it 
you. On a Friday, it would be unlucky.” 

Monsieur Benoit's wrath grew tempestuous, and if the 
furniture had not belonged to him he would no doubt have 
smashed some of it. 

However, he went out muttering threats. 

“ You are forgetting your bag,”cried Rodolphe after him. 
“What a business,” murmured the young fellow, as he 
found himself alone. “ I would rather tame lions. But,” 
he continued, jumping out of bed and dressing hurriedly. 


116 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTEB. 

‘ ‘ I cannot stay here. The invasion will continue. I must 
flee ; I must even breakfast. Suppose I go and see 
Schaunard. I will ask him for some breakfast, and borrow 
a trifle. A hundred francs will be enough. Yes, Tm 
off to Schaunard’s. ” 

Going downstairs, Rodolphe met Monsieur Benoit, who 
had received further shocks from his other lodgers, as was 
attested by his empty bag. 

“If any one asks for me, tell them that I have gone into 
the country — to the Alps,'' said Rodolphe. “Or stay, 
tell them that I no longer live here." 

“I shall tell the truth," murmured Monsieur Benoit, in 
a very significant tone. 

Schaunard was living at Montmartre. It was necessary 
to go right through Paris. This peregrination was one 
most dangerous to Rodolphe. 

“To-day," said he, “ the streets are paved with cred- 
itors. " 

However, he did not go along by the outer Boulevards, 
as he had felt inclined to. A fanciful hope, on the con- 
trary, urged him to follow the perilous itinerary of central 
Paris. Rodolphe thought that on a day when millions 
were going about the thoroughfares in the money-cases 
of bank messengers, it might happen that a thousand 
franc note, abandoned on the roadside, might lie waiting 
its Good Samaritan. Thus he walked slowly along with 
his eyes on the ground. But he only found two pins. 

After a two hours' walk he got to Schaunard’s. 

“Ah, it's you," said the latter. 

“Yes ; I have come to ask you for some breakfast.” 

“Ah, my dear fellow, you come at the wrong time. 
My mistress has just arrived, and I have not seen her for 
a fortnight. If you had only called ten minutes earlier." 

“Well, have you got a hundred francs to lend me } " 

“What, you too ! " exclaimed Schaunard, in the height 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 117 

of astonishment. “You have come to ask me for money ! 
You, in the ranks of my enemies ! ” 

“I will pay you back on Monday.” 

“Or at the Greek Calends. My dear fellow, you surely 
forget what day it is. I can do nothing for you. But 
there is no reason to despair ; the day is not yet over. 
You may still meet with Providence, who never gets up 
before noon. 

“ Ah !” replied Rodolphe, “ Providence has too much 
to do looking after little birds. I will go and see Marcel.” 
Marcel was then residing in the Rue de Breda. Rodolphp 
found him in a very downcast mood, contemplating his 
great picture that was to represent the passage of the Red 
Sea. 

“What is the matter?” asked Rodolphe, as he entered. 

“ You seem quite in the dumps.” 

“Alas!” replied the painter, in allegorical language, 
“for the last fortnight it has been Holy Week.” 

“ Red herrings and black radishes. Good; I remem- 
ber. ” 

Indeed, Rodolphe’s memory was still salt with the re- 
membrance of a time when he had been reduced to the 
exclusive consumption of the fish in question. 

“The deuce,” said he, “that is serious. I came to 
borrow a hundred francs of you.” 

“A hundred francs,” said Marcel. “You are always 
in the clouds. The idea of coming and asking me for 
that mythological amount at a period when one is always 
under the equator of necessity. You must have been 
taking hashish. ” 

“Alas ! ” said Rodolphe, “I have not been taking any- 
thing at all. ” 

And he left his friend on the banks of the Red Sea. 

From noon to four o’clock Rodolphe successively steer- 
ed for every house of his acquaintance. He went through 


118 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


the forty-eight districts of Paris and covered about eight 
leagues, but without any success. The influence of the 
15 th of April made itself felt with equal severity every- 
where. However, dinner-time was drawing near. But 
it scarcely appeared that dinner was likely to follow its 
example, and it seemed to Rodolphe that he was on the 
raft of the wrecked Medusa. 

As he was crossing the Pont Neuf an idea all at once 
occurred to him. 

“Oh! oh!’’ said he to himself, retracing his steps; 
“the 15 th of April. But I have an invitation to dinner for 
to-day.” 

And fumbling in his pocket, he drew out a printed 
ticket, running as follows : 


Babbiebe de La Villette, 

AU GRAND VAINQUEUR, 

Dining-room to seat 300 people. 

^Inniocraarg iBtnntr 

IN HONOUR OP THE BIRTH OP 

THE HUMANITARIAN MESSIAH. 

April 15, 184—. 

ADMIT ONE. 

N.B. — Only half a bottle of wine per head. 


“Ido not share the opinions of the disciples of this 
Messiah,” said Rodolphe to himself; “But I will will- 
ingly share their repast.” And with the swiftness of a bird 
he covered the distance separating him from the Barriere 
de la Villette. 

When he reached the halls of the Grand Vainqueur, the 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 110 

crowd was enormous. The dining-room, seating three 
hundred, was thronged with five hundred people. Avast 
horizon of veal and carrots spread itself before the eyes 
of Rodolphe. 

At length they began to serve the soup. 

As the guests were carrying their spoons to their lips, 
five or six people in plain clothes, and several police ofii- 
cers in uniform, pushed into the room, with a commis- 
sary of police at their head. 

“Gentlemen,” said the commissary, “by order of 
the authorities, this dinner cannot take place. I call upon 
you to withdraw.” 

“Oh!” said Rodolphe, retiring with everyone else. 
‘‘Oh I what a fatality has spoilt my dinner.” 

He sadly resumed the road to his dwelling, and reached 
it at about eleven at night. 

Monsieur Benoit was awaiting him. 

“Ah! it is you,” said the landlord. “Have you 
thought of what I told you this morning? Have you 
brought me any money? ” 

“ I am to receive some to-night ; I will give you some 
of it to-morrow morning,” replied Rodolphe, looking for 
his key and his candlestick in their accustomed place. 
He did not find them. 

“Monsieur Rodolphe,” said the landlord, “I am very 
sorry, but I have let your room, and I have no other 
vacant just now — you must go somewhere else.” 

Rodolphe had a lofty soul, and a night in the open air 
did not alarm him. Besides, in the event of bad weather, 
he could sleep in a box at the Odeon Theatre, as he had 
already done before. Only he claimed “ his property ” 
from Monsieur Benoit, the said property consisting of a 
bundle of papers. 

“That is so,” said the landlord. “ I have no right to 
detain those things. They are in the bureau. Come up 


120 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

with me : if the person who has taken your room has not 
gone to bed, we can go in.” 

The room had been let during the day to a girl named 
Mimi, with whom Rodolphe had formerly began a love 
duet. They recognized one another at once. Rodolphe 
began to whisper to Mimi, and tenderly squeeze her 
hand. 

“See how it rains,” said he, calling attention to the 
noise of the storm that had just broken overhead. 

Mademoiselle Mimi went straight up to Monsieur 
Benoit, who was waiting in a corner of the room. 

“Sir,” said she, pointing to Rodolphe, “this is the gen- 
tleman I was expecting this evening.” 

“Oh ! ” said Monsieur Benoit, grinning on the wrong 
side of his face. 

Whilst Mademoiselle Mimi was hurriedly getting ready 
an improvised supper, midnight struck. 

“Ah ! ” said Rodolphe to himself, “ the 15th of April is 
over. I have at length weathered my Cape of Storms. 
My dear Mimi,” said the young man, taking the pretty 
girl in his arms and kissing her on the back of the neck, 
“ it would have been impossible for you to have allowed 
me to be turned out of doors. You have the bump of hos- 
pitality." 





THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


121 


CHAPTER XI. 

A BOHEMIAN CAF*. 

You shall hear how it came to pass that Carolus Barbe- 
muche, platonist and literary man generally, became a 
member of the Bohemian Club, in the twenty-fourth year 
of his age. 

At that time, Gustave Colline, the great philosopher, 
Marcel, the great painter, Schaunard, the great musician, 
and Rodolphe, the great poet (as they called one another), 
regularly frequented the Momus Cafe, where they were 
surnamed “the Four Musqueteers,” because they were al- 
ways seen together. In fact, they came together, went away 
together, played together, and sometimes didn’t pay their 
shot together, with a unison worthy of the best orchestra. 

They chose to meet in a room where forty people 
might have been accommodated, but they were usually 
there alone, inasmuch as they had rendered the place 
uninhabitable by its ordinary frequenters. The chance 
customer who risked himself in this den, became, from 
the moment of his entrance, the victim of the terrible 
four; and, in most cases, made his escape without finish- 
ing his newspaper and cup of coffee, seasoned as they 
were by unheard-of maxims on art, sentiment, and polit- 
ical economy. The conversation of the four comrades 
was of such a nature that the waiter who served them 
had become an idiot in the prime of his life. 

At length things reached such a point that the landlord 
lost all patience, and came up one night to make a formal 
statement of his griefs : 


122 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“Firstly. Monsieur Rodolphe comes early in the 
morning to breakfast, and carries off to his room all the 
papers of the establishment, going so far as to complain if he 
finds that they have been opened ; consequently, the other 
customers, cut off from the usual channels of public opin- 
ion and intelligence, remain till dinner in utter ignorance 
of political affairs. The Bosquet party hardly knows the 
name of the last cabinet. 

“ Monsieur Rodolphe has even obliged the cafe to sub- 
scribe to ‘The Beaver,’ of which he is chief editor. The 
master of the establishment at first refused ; but as Mon- 
sieur Rodolphe and his party kept calling the waiter every 
half hour, and crying ; ‘ The Beaver ! ’ bring us ‘ The Bea- 
ver 1 ’ some other customers, whose curiosity was excited 
by these obstinate demands, also asked for ‘The Beaver.’ 
So ‘The Beaver’ was subscribed to — a hatter’s journal, 
which appeared every month, ornamented with a vignette 
and an article on ‘ The Philosophy of Hats and other things 
in general,’ by Gustave Colline. 

“Secondly. The aforesaid Monsieur Colline, and his 
friend Monsieur Rodolphe, repose themselves from their 
intellectual labors by playing backgammon from ten in 
the morning till midnight ; and as the establishment pos- 
sesses but one backgammon-board, they monopolize that 
to the detriment of the other amateurs of the game ; and 
when asked for the board, they only answer, ‘ Some one 
is reading it ; call to-morrow.’ Thus the Bosquet party 
find themselves reduced to playing piquet, or talking about 
their old love-affairs. 

“Thirdly. Monsieur Marcel, forgetting that a cafe is a 
public place, brings thither his easel, box of colours, and, 
in short, all the instruments of his art. He even disre- 
gards the usages of society so far as to send for models of 
different sexes ; which might shock the morals of the Bos- 
quet party. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 128 

“Fourthly. Following the example of his friend, Mon- 
sieur Schaunard talks of bringing his piano to the cafe ; 
and he has not scrupled to get up a chorus on a motive 
from his symphony, ‘The Influence of Blue in Art.’ 
i\Ionsieur Schaunard has gone farther ; he has inserted in 
the lantern which serves the establishment for sign, a 
transparency with this inscription : 

* Course of music, vocal and instrumental, 

FOR BOTH SEXES, 

GRATIS. 

Apply at the counter.* 

In consequence of this, the counter aforesaid is besieged 
every night by a number of badly-dressed individuals, 
wanting to know whereyou go in. 

“Moreover, Monsieur Schaunard gives meetings to a 
lady calling herself ^Mademoiselle Phemie, who always 
forgets to bring her bonnet. Wherefore, Monsieur Bos- 
quet, Jr., has declared that he will never more put foot in 
an establishment where the laws of nature are thus out- 
raged. 

‘ ‘ Fifthly. Not content with being very poor customers, 
these gentlemen have tried to be still more economical. 
Under pretence of having caught the mocha of the estab- 
lishment in improper intercourse with chicory, they have 
brought a lamp with spirits-of-wine, and make their own 
coffee, sweetening it with their own sugar ; all of which 
is an insult to the establishment. 

“Sixthly. Corrupted by the discourse of these gentle- 
men, the waiter Bergami (so called from his whiskers), 
forgetting his humble origin and defying all control, has 
dared to address to the mistress of the house a piece of 
poetry suggestive of the most improper sentiments ; by the 
irregularity of its style, this letter is recognized as a direct 


124 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

emanation from the pernicious influence of Monsieur Ro- 
dolphe and his literature. 

“Consequently, in spite of the regret which he feels, 
the proprietor of the establishment finds himself obliged 
to request theColline party to choose some other place for 
their revolutionary meetings.'’ 

Gustave Colline, who was the Cicero of the set, took 
the floor and demonstrated to the landlord that his com- 
plaints were frivolous and unfounded ; that they did him 
great honour in making his establishment a home of in- 
tellect ; that their departure and that of their friends 
would be the ruin of his house, which their presence ele- 
vated to the rank of a literary and artistic club. 

“But,” objected the other, “you, and those who come 
to see you, call for so little.” 

“ This temperance to which you object,” replied Col- 
line, “ is an argument in favour of our morals. More- 
over, it depends on yourself whether we spend more or 
not. You have only to open an account with us.” 

The landlord pretended not to hear this, and demanded 
some explanation of the incendiary letter addressed by 
Bergami to his wife. Rodolphe, accused of acting as 
secretary to the waiter, strenuously asserted his inno- 
cence — 

“For,” said he, “the lady’s virtue was a sure bar- 
rier ” 

The landlord could not repress a smile of pride. Fi- 
nally, Colline entangled him completely in the folds of his 
insidious oratory, and everything was arranged, on the 
conditions that the party should cease making their own 
coffee, that the establishment should receive “The 
Beaver” gratis, that Phemie should come in a bonnet, 
that the backgammon-board should be given up to the 
Bosquets every Sunday from twelve to two ; and above 
all, that no one should ask for tick. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 125 

On this basis everything went well for some time. 

It was Christmas-eve. The four friends came to the 
cafe, accompanied by their friends of the other sex. 
There was Marcels Musette ; Rodolphe's new flame, 
Mimi, a lovely creature, with a voice like a pair of cym- 
bals ; and Schaunard’s idol, Phemie Teinturiere. That 
night, Phemie, according to agreement, had her bonnet 
on. As to Madame Colline that should have been, no 
one ever saw her ; she was always at home, occupied in 
punctuating her husband's manuscripts. After the coffee 
which was on this great occasion escorted by a regiment 
of small glasses of brandy, they called for punch. The 
waiter was so little accustomed to the order, that they 
had to repeat it twice. Phemie, who had never been to 
such a place before, seemed in a state of ecstasy at drink- 
ing out of glasses with feet. Marcel was quarrelling 
with Musette about a new bonnet which /te had not given 
her. Mimi and Rodolphe, who were in their honey- 
moon, carried on a silent conversation, alternated with 
suspicious noises. As to Colline, he went about from 
one to the other, distributing among them all the polite 
and ornamental phrases which he had picked up in the 
“Muses’ Almanack." 

While this joyous company was thus abandoning itself 
to sport and laughter, a stranger at the bottom of the 
room, who occupied a table by himself, was observing 
with extraordinary attention the animated scene before 
him. For a fortnight or thereabout, he had come thus 
every night, being the only customer who could stand the 
terrible row which the club made. The boldest pleasan- 
tries had failed to move him ; he would remain all the 
evening, smoking his pipe with mathematical regularity, 
his eyes fixed as if watching a treasure, and his ears open 
to all that was said around him. As to his other qualities 
he seemed quiet and well-off, for he possessed a watch 


126 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

with a gold chain ; and one day, Marcel, meeting him 
at the bar, caught him in the act of changing a louis to 
pay his score. From that moment, the four friends de- 
signated him by the name of “The Capitalist.” 

Suddenly Schaunard, who had very good eyes, remarked 
that the glasses were empty. 

“Yes,” exclaimed Rodolphe, “ and this is Christmas- 
eve ! We are good Christians, and ought to have some- 
thing extra.” 

“Yes, indeed, ” added Marcel, “let’s call for something 
supernatural. ” 

“Colline,” continued Rodolphe, “ring a little for the 
waiter. ” 

Colline rang like one possessed. 

“What shall we have?” said Marcel. 

Colline made a low bow, and pointed to the women. 

“ It is the business of these ladies to regulate the nature 
and order of our refreshment. ” 

“ I,” said Musette, smacking her lips, “should not be 
afraid of Champagne. ” 

“ Are you crazy ? ” exclaimed Marcel ; “Champagne ! 
that isn’t wine to begin with.” 

“So much the worse : I like it; it makes a noise.” 

“I,” said Mimi, with a coaxing look at Rodolphe, 
'‘would like some Beaune, in a little basket.” 

“ Have you lost your senses ? ” said Rodolphe. 

“No, but I want to lose them,” replied Mimi. The 
poet was thunderstruck. 

“ I,” said Phemie, dancing herself on the elastic sofa, 
“would rather have parfait amour ; it’s good for the 
stomach.” 

Schaunard articulated, in a nasal tone, some words which 
made Phemie tremble on her spring foundation. 

“ Bah ! ” said Marcel, recovering himself the first ; “let 
us spend a hundred thousand francs for this once I ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTEK. 127 

“Yes/’ said Rodolphe ; “they complain of our not 
being good customers. Let’s astonish them ! ” 

“ Ay/' said Colline, “let us give ourselves up to the 
delights of a splendid banquet ! Do we not owe passive 
obedience to these ladies ? Love lives on devotion ; wine 
is the essence of pleasure, pleasure the duty of youth ; 
women are flowers, and must be moistened. Moisten 
away I Waiter I waiter ! " and Colline hung upon the bell- 
rope with feverish excitement. 

Swift as the wind, the waiter came. When he heard 
talk of Champagne, Burgundy, and various liqueurs, his 
physiognomy ran through a whole gamut of astonish- 
ment. But there was more to come. 

“I have a hole in my inside,” said Mimi ; “I should 
like some ham.” 

“And I some sardines, and bread-and-butter,” struck in 
Musette. 

“And I, radishes,” quoth Phemie, “and a little meat 
with them.” 

“Say at once, then, that you want supper,” said 
Marcel. 

“We should have no objection,” answered they. 

“ Waiter !” quoth Colline, gravely, “bring us all that 
is requisite for a good supper.” 

The waiter turned all the colours of the rainbow. He 
descended slowly to the bar, and informed his master of 
the extraordinary orders he had received. 

The landlord took it for a joke ; but on a new summons 
from the bell, he ascended himself and addressed Colline, 
for whom he had a certain respect. Colline explained to 
him that they wished to see Christmas in at his house, 
and that he would oblige them by serving what they had 
asked for. Momus made no answer, but backed out, 
twisting his napkin. For a quarter of an hour he held a 
consultation with his wife, who, thanks to her liberal 


128 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETER, 

education at the St. Denis Convent, fortunately had a 
weakness for arts and letters, and advised him to serve 
the supper. 

‘‘To be sure,” said the landlord, “they may have 
money for once, by chance. ” 

So he told the waiter to take up whatever they asked 
for, and then plunged into a game of piquet with an old 
customer. Fatal imprudence ! 

From ten to twelve the waiter did nothing but run up 
and downstairs. Every moment he was asked for some- 
thing more. Musette would eat English-fashion, and 
change her fork at every mouthful. Mimi drank all sorts 
of wine, in all sorts of glasses. Schaunard had a quench- 
less Sahara in his throat. Colline played a cross-fire with 
his eyes, and while munching his napkin, as his habit 
was, kept pinching the leg of the table, which he took for 
Phemie’s knee. Marcel and Rodolphe maintained the 
stirrups of self-possession, expecting the catastrophe, not 
without anxiety. 

The stranger regarded the scene with grave curiosity ; 
from time to time he opened his mouth as if for a smile ; 
then you might have heard a noise like that of a window 
which creaks in shutting. It was the stranger laughing 
to himself. 

At a quarter before twelve the bill was sent up. It 
amounted to the enormous sum of twenty-five francs and 
three-quarters. 

“Come, ’’said Marcel, “ we will draw lots for who shall 
go and diplomatize with our host. It is getting serious.” 
They took a set of dominoes ; the highest was to go. 

Unluckily, the lot fell upon Schaunard, who was an 
excellent virtuoso, but a very bad ambassador. He 
arrived, too, at the bar just as the landlord had lost his 
third game. Momus was in a fearful bad humour, and, 
at Schaunard’s first words, broke out into a violent 





At the Momus Cafe 



THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 320 

rage. Schaunard was a good musician, but he had an 
indifferent temper, and he replied by a double discharge 
of slang. The dispute grew more and more bitter, till 
the landlord went upstairs, swearing that he would be 
paid, and that no one should stir till he was. Colline 
endeavoured to interpose his pacifying oratory ; but, on 
perceiving a napkin which Colline had made lint of, the 
host’s anger redoubled ; and to indemnify himself, he 
actually dared to lay profane hands on the philosopher’s 
hazel overcoat and the ladies’ shawls. 

A volley of abuse was interchanged by the Bohemians 
and the irate landlord. 

The women talked to one another of their dresses and 
their conquests. 

At this point the stranger abandoned his impassible 
attitude ; gradually he rose, made a step forward, then 
another, and walked as an ordinary man might do ; he 
approached the landlord, took him aside, and spoke to 
him in a low tone. Rodolph and Marcel followed him 
with their eyes. At length, the host went out, saying to 
the stranger : 

^‘Certainly, I consent. Monsieur Barbemuche, certainly; 
arrange it with them yourself.” 

Monsieur Barbemuche returned to his table to take his 
hat ; put it on, turned round to the right, and in three 
steps came close to Rodolphe and Marcel; took off his 
hat, bowed to the men, waved a salute to the women, 
pulled out his handkerchief, blew his nose, and began in 
a feeble voice : 

Gentlemen, excuse the liberty I am about to take. 
For a long time I have been burning with desire to make 
your acquaintance, but have never, till now, found a favour- 
able opportunity. Will you allow me to seize the present 
one ? ” 

“Certainly, certainly,’’ said Colline. Rodolphe and 

9 


130 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

Marcel bowed, and said nothing. The excessive delicacy 
of Schaunard came nigh spoiling everything. 

Excuse me, sir,’" said he, briskly, “but you have not 
the honour of knowing us ; and the usages of society 

forbid would you be so good as to give me a pipeful 

of tobacco? In other respects I am of my friends’ 
opinion. ” 

“Gentlemen,” continued Barbemuche, “I am a disciple 
of the fine arts, like yourselves. So far as I have been 
able to judge from what I have heard of your conversa- 
tion, our tastes are the same. I have a most eager desire 
to be a friend of yours, and to be able to find you here 
every night. The landlord is a brute ; but I said a word 
to him, and you are quite free to go. I trust you will not 
refuse me the opportunity of finding you here again, by 
accepting this slight service.” 

A blush of indignation mounted to Schaunard's face. 
“He is speculating on our condition,” said he: “we 
cannot accept. He has paid our bill : I will play him at 
billiards for the twenty-five francs, and give him points.” 

Barbemuche accepted the proposition, and had the 
good sense to lose. This gained him the esteem of the 
party. They broke up with the understanding that they 
were to meet next day. 

“Now,” said Schaunard, “ our dignity is saved; we 
owe him nothing.” 

“We can almost ask him for another supper,” said 
Colline. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


131 


CHAPTER XIL 

A BOHEMIAN “ AT HOME.*" 

The night when he paid out of his own purse for the 
supper consumed at the cafe, Barbemuche managed to 
make Colline accompany him. Since his first presence 
at the meetings of the four friends whom he had relieved 
from their embarrassing position, Carolus had especially 
remarked Gustave, and already felt an attractive sym- 
pathy for this Socrates whose Plato he was destined to 
become. It was for this reason he had chosen him to be 
his introducer. On the way, Barbemuche proposed that 
they should enter a cafe which was still open, and take 
something to drink. Not only did Colline refuse, but he 
doubled his speed in passing the cafe, and carefully 
pulled down his hyperphysic hat over his face. 

“ But why won’t you come in?” politely insisted the 
other. 

“ I have my reasons,” replied Colline; “ there is a 
barmaid in that establishment who is very much addicted 
to the exact sciences, and I could not help having a long 
discussion with her, to avoid which I never pass through 
this street at noon, or any other time of day. To tell 
you the truth,” added he, innocently, “I once lived with 
Marcel in this neighbourhood.” 

“Still I should be very glad to offer you a glass of 
punch, and have a few minutes’ talk with you. Is there 
no other place in the vicifiity where you could step in 
without being hindered by any mathematical difficulties ? ” 
asked Barbemuche, who thought it a. good opportunity for 
saying something very clever. 


132 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

Colline mused an instant : ‘ ‘ There is a little place here, ” 
he said, pointing to a wine shop, “where I stand on a 
better footing.” 

Barbemiiche made a face, and seemed to hesitate. “Is 
it a respectable place.?” he demanded. 

His cold and reserved attitude, his limited conversa- 
tion, his discreet smile, and especially his watch-chain 
with charms on it, all led Colline to suppose that Barbe- 
muche was a clerk in some embassy, and that he feared 
to compromise himself by going into a wineshop. 

“ There is no danger of any one seeing us,” said he ; 
“all the diplomatic body is in bed by this time.” 

Barbemuche made up his mind to go in, though at the 
bottom of his heart he would have given a good deal for 
a false nose. For greater security, he insisted on having 
a private room, and took care to fasten a napkin before 
the glass door of it. These precautions taken, he ap- 
peared more at ease, and called for a bowl of punch. Ex- 
cited a little by the generous beverage, Barbemuche be- 
came more communicative, and, after giving some auto- 
biographical details, made bold to express the hope he 
had conceived of being personally admitted a member of 
the Bohemian Club, for the accomplishment of which 
ambitious design he solicited the aid of Colline. 

Colline replied that, for his part, he was entirely at the 
service of Barbemuche, but, nevertheless, he could make 
no positive promise. “ I assure you of my vote,” said 
he ; “but I cannot take it upon me to dispose of those of 
my comrades.” 

“But,” asked Barbemuche, “for what reasons could 
they refuse to admit me among them .? ” 

Colline put down the glass which he was just lifting to 
his mouth, and, in a very serious tone, addressed the rash 
Carolus, saying, 

“You cultivate the fine arts ! ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTER. 


133 


“I labour humbly in those noble fields ot intelligence,” 
replied the other who felt bound to hang out the colours 
of his style. 

Colline found the phrase well turned, and bowed in 
acknowledgment. 

“You understand music ? ” he continued. 

“ I have played on the bass-viol.” 

“ A very philosophical instrument. Then, if you un- 
derstand music, you also understand that one cannot, 
without violation of the laws of harmony, introduce a 
fifth performer into a quartette ; it would cease to be 
a quartette.” 

“Exactly, and become a quintette.” 

“A quintette; very well; now attend to me. You 
understand astronomy ? ” 

“A little ; I'm a bachelor of arts.” 

“There is a song about that,” ^aid Colline; “ ‘Dear 
bachelor, says Lisette ’ — I have forgotten the tune. Well, 
then, you know that there are four cardinal points. Now 
suppose there were to turn up a fifth cardinal point, all 
the harmony of Nature would be upset. What they call 
a cataclysm — you understand?” 

“ I am waiting for the conclusion,” said Carolus, whose 
intelligence began to be a little shaky. 

“ The conclusion — yes, that is the end of argument, as 
death is the end of life, and marriage of love. Well, my 
dear sir, I and my friends are accustomed to live together, 
and we fear to impair, by the introduction of another per- 
son, the harmony which reigns in our habits, opinions, 
tastes, and dispositions. To speak frankly, we are going 
to be, some day, the four cardinal points of contemporary 
art ; accustomed to this idea, it would annoy us to see a 
fifth point.” 

“Nevertheless,” suggested Carolus, “where you are 
four it is easy to be five.” 


134 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QTJABTEK. 


“ Yes, but then we cease to be four.” 

“The objection is a trivial one.” 

“ There is trivial in this world ; little brooks 

make great rivers ; little syllables make big verses ; the 
very mountains are made of grains of sand — so says 
‘The Wisdom of Nations,' of which there is a copy on 
the quay — tell me, my dear sir, which is the furrow that 
you usually follow in the noble fields of intelligence.?” 

“The great philosophers and the classic authors are 
my models. I live upon their study. ‘Telemachus' first 
inspired the consuming passion I feel. ” 

“ ‘ Telemachus ’ — there are lots of him on the quay,” 
.said Colline ; “you can find him there at any time. I 
have bought him for five sous — a second-hand copy — I 
would consent to part with it to oblige you. In other 
respects, it is a great work ; very well got up, consider- 
ing the age.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Carolus ; “I aspire to high philosophy 
and sound literature. According to my idea, art is a 
priesthood ” 

“Yes, yes,” said Colline ; “ there's a song about that, 
too ;” and he began to hum 

“ Art’s a priesthood ; art’s a priesthood,” 

to air of the drinking-song in “Robert the Devil.” 

“ I say, then, that art, being a solemn mission, writers 
ought, above all things ” 

“ Excuse me,” said Colline, who heard one of the small 
hours striking, “but it’s getting to be to-morrow morning 
very fast.” 

“ It IS late, in fact,” said Carolus ; “let us go.” 

“ Do you live far off? ” 

“Rue Royale St. Honore, No. lo.” 

Colline had once had occasion to visit this house, and 
remembered that it was a splendid private mansion. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE J.ATIN QUARTIHI. 135 

** I will mention you to my friends/’ said he to Carolus, 
on parting; “ and you may be sure that I shall use all 
my influence to make them favourably disposed to you. 
Ah, let me give you one piece of advice. ’’ 

“Go on, said the other. 

“Be very amiable and polite to Mademoiselles Mimi, 
Musette and Phemie ; these ladies exercise an authority 
over my friends, and by managing to bring their mis- 
tresses’ influence to bear upon them you will contrive far 
more easily to obtain what you require from Marcel, 
Schaunard and Rodolphe.” 

“I’ll try,” said Carolus. 

Next day, Colline tumbled in upon the Bohemian associa- 
tion. It was the hour of breakfast, and, for a wonder, 
breakfast had come with the hour. The three couples 
were at table, feasting on artichokes and pepper-.sauce. 

“The deuce!” exclaimed the philosopher; “this 
can’t last, or the world would come to an end. I arrive,” 
he continued, “as the ambassador of the generous mortal 
whom we met last night.” 

“Can he be sending already to ask for his money 
again ? ” said Marcel. 

“It has nothing to do with that,” replied Colline. 
“This young man wishes to be one of us ; to have stock 
in our society, and share the profits, of course.” 

The three men raised their heads and looked at one 
another. 

' ‘That’s all.” concluded Colline ; “now the question is 
open.” 

“What is the social position of your principal ? ” asked 
Rodolphe. 

“He is no principal of mine,” answered the other; 
“ last night he begged me to accompany him, and over- 
flowed me with attentions and good liquor for a while ; 
but I have retained my independence.” 


136 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


‘‘Good,” said Schaunard. 

“Sketch us some leading features of his character,'* 
said Marcel. 

“ Grandeur of soul : austerity of manners : afraid to go 
into wineshops : bachelor of arts : candid as a trans- 
parency : plays on the bass-viol : is disposed to change a 
five-franc piece occasionally.” 

“ Good again ! ” said Schaunard. 

“What are his hopes ? ’* 

“As I told you already, his ambition knows no bounds ; 
he aspires to be ‘hail-fellow-well-met' with us.” 

“That is to say,” answered Marcel, “he wishes to 
speculate upon us, and to be seen riding in our car- 
riages. ” 

“ What is his profession ? ” asked Rodolphe. 

“Yes,” said Marcel ; “what does he play on ? ” 

“Literature and mixed philosophy. He calls art a 
priesthood. ” 

“A priesthood 1 ” cried Rodolphe, in terror. 

“ So he says.” 

“And what is his road in literature ? ” 

“He goes after ‘ Telemachus. "' 

“Very good,” said Schaunard, eating the seed of his 
artichoke. 

“Very good! you dummy!” broke out Marcel; “I 
advise you not to say that in the street. ” 

Schaunard relieved his annoyance at this reproof by 
kicking Phemie under the table for taking some of his 
sauce. 

“Once more,” said Rodolphe ; “ what is his condition 
in the world ? what does he live on, and where does he 
live ? and what is his name ? ” 

‘ ‘ His station is honourable ; he is professor of every- 
thing in a rich family. His name is Carolus Barbemuche ; 
he spends his income in luxurious living, and dwells in 
the Rue Roy ale.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE I.ATIN OUABTER. 


137 


“ Furnished lodging ? ” 

“ No ; there is real furniture.” ♦ 

‘ ‘ I claim the floor, ” said Marcel. * * To me it is evident 
that Colline has been corrupted ; he has already sold his 
vote for so many drinks. Don’t interrupt me ! (Colline 
was rising to protest) you shall have your turn. Col- 
line, mercenary soul that he is, has presented to you this 
stranger under an aspect too favourable to be true. I told 
you before ; I see through this person's designs. He 
wants to speculate on us. He says to himself, ‘ Here are 
some chaps making their way ; I must get into theii 
pockets ; I shall arrive with them at the goal of fame. ’ ” 

“Bravo!” quoth Schaunard ; “have you any more 
sauce there ? ” 

“No,” replied Rodolphe ; “ the edition is out of print.” 

“Looking at the question from another point of view,” 
continued Marcel, “this insidious mortal whom Colline 
patronizes, perhaps aspires to our intimacy only from the 
most culpable motives. Gentlemen, we are not alone 
here 1 ” continued the orator, with an eloquent look at the 
women; “and Colline's client, smuggling himself into 
our circle under the cloak of literature, may perchance 
be but a vile seducer. Reflect 1 For one, I vote against 
his reception.” 

“ I demand the floor,” said Rodolphe, “ only for a cor- 
rection. In his remarkable extemporary speech, Marcel 
has said that this Carolus, with the view of dishonouring 
us, wished to introduce himself under the cloak of liiera- 
turer 

“A Parliamentary figure.” 

“A very bad figure ; literature has no cloak ! ” 

“Having made a report, as chairman of committee, 

♦ To appreciate this joke fully, one must have occupied furnished lodg- 
ings in Paris. Trans* 


138 THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUARTEK. 

resumed Colline, rising*, “I maintain the conclusions 
therein embodied. The jealousy which consumes him 
disturbs the reason of our friend Marcel ; the great artist 
is beside himself.” 

“ Order ! ” cried Marcel. 

“So much so, that, able designer as he is, he has just 
introduced into his speech a figure the incorrectness of 
which has been ably pointed out by the talented orator 
who preceded me.” 

“Colline is an ass!” shouted Marcel, with a bang of 
his fist on the table that caused a lively sensation among 
the plates, “ Colline knows nothing in an affair of sen- 
timent ; he is incompetent to judge of such matters ; he 
has an old book in place of a heart.” 

Prolonged laughter from Schaunard. During the row, 
Colline kept gravely adjusting the folds of his white cravat 
as if to make way for the torrents of eloquence contained 
beneath them. When silence was re-established, he thus 
continued : 

“Gentlemen, I intend with one word to banish from 
your minds the chimerical apprehensions which the sus- 
picions of Marcel may have engendered in them respect- 
ing Carolus.” 

“Oh, yes!” said Marcel, ironically. 

“ It will be as easy as that,” continued Colline, blow- 
ing out the match with which he had lighted his pipe. 

“ Go on ! go on ! ” cried Schaunard, Rodolphe, and the 
women together. 

“Gentlemen! although I have been personally and 
violently attacked in this meeting ; although I have been 
accused of selling for base liquors the influence which I 
possess ; secure in a good conscience I shall not deign to 
reply to those assaults on my probity, my loyalty, my 
morality. {SensaHon.'\ But there is one thing which I 
will have respected. [Here the orator^ endeavouring to 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUABTER. 139 

lay his hand on his heart, gave himself a rap in the stomach. ] 
My well-tried and well-known prudence has been called 
in question. I have been accused of wishing to introduce 
among you a person whose intentions were hostile to your 
happiness — in matters of sentiment. This supposition is 
an insult to the virtue of these ladies — nay more, an insult 
to their good taste. Carolus Barbemuche is decidedly 
ugly. " [ Visible denial on the face of Phemie ; noise under 

the table ; it is Schaunard kicking her by way of correcting 
her compromising frankness."] 

“But,” proceeded Colline, “what will reduce to pow- 
der the contemptible argument with which my opponent 
has armed himself against Carolus by taking advantage 
of your terrors, is the fact that the said Carolus is a Plat- 
onist. \Sensation among the men; uproar among the 
wome7i. ] 

This declaration of Colline's produced a reaction in 
favour of Carolus. The philosopher wished to improve 
the effect of his eloquent and adroit defence. 

“Now, then,” he continued, “ I do not see what well- 
founded prejudices can exist against this young man, who, 
after all, has rendered us a service. As to myself, who 
am accused of acting thoughtlessly in wishing to intro- 
duce him among us, I consider this opinion an insult to 
my dignity. I have acted in the affair with the wisdom 
of the serpent ; if a formal vote does not maintain me this 
character for prudence, I offer my resignation.” 

“ Do you make it a cabinet question ? ” said Marcel. 

“I do.” 

The three consulted, and agreed by common consent 
to restore to the philosopher that high reputation for pru- 
dence which he claimed. Colline then gave the floor to 
Marcel, who, somewhat relieved of his prejudices, declared 
that he might perhaps favour the adoption of the report. 
But before the decisive and final vote which should open 


140 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUABTER. 

to Carolus the intimacy of the club, he put to the meeting 
this amendment : 

‘‘Whereas, the introduction of a new member into our 
society is a grave matter, and a stranger might bring with 
him some elements of discord through ignorance of the 
habits, tempers and opinions of his comrades, 

“Resolved, That each member shall pass a day with 
the said Carolus, and investigate his manner of life, tastes, 
literary capacity and wardrobe. The members shall after- 
ward communicate their several impressions, and ballot 
on his admission accordingly. Moreover, before com- 
plete admission, the said Carolus shall undergo a novi- 
ciate of one month, during which time he shall not have 
the right to call us by our first names or take our arm in 
the street. On the day of reception, a splendid banquet 
shall be given at the expense of the new member, at a cost 
of not less than twelve francs.” 

This amendment was adopted by three votes against 
one. The same night Colline went to the cafe early on 
purpose to be the first to see Carolus. He had not long 
to wait for him. Barbemuche soon appeared, carrying in 
his hand three huge bouquets of roses. 

“Hullo ! ” cried the astonished Colline ; “what do you 
mean to do with that garden ? ” 

“ I remember what you told me yesterday. Your friends 
will doubtless come with their ladies, and it is on their 
account that I bring these flowers — very handsome ones.' 

“That they are; they must have cost fifteen sous, at 
least.” 

‘ ‘ In the month of December ! If you said fifteen francs, 
you would have come nearer.” 

“ Heavens !” cried Colline, “three crowns for these 
simple gifts of Flora 1 You must be related to the Cordil- 
leras. Well, my dear sir, that is fifteen francs which we 
must throw out of the window.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


141 


It was Barbemuche’s turn to be astonished. Colline re- 
lated the jealous suspicions with which Marcel had 
inspired his friends, and informed Carolus of the violent 
discussion which had taken place between them that 
morning on the subject of his admission. 

“I protested,’’ said Colliine, “ that your intentions were 
the purest, but there was a strong opposition, nevertheless. 
Beware of renewing these suspicions by much politeness 
to the ladies ; and to begin, let us put these bouquets out 
of the way.” He took the roses and hid them in a cup- 
board. “But that is not all,” he resumed ; “before con- 
necting themselves intimately with you, these gentlemen 
desire to make a private examination, each for himself, of 
your character, tastes, etc. ” 

Then, lest Barbemuche might do something to shock 
his friends, Colline rapidly sketched a moral portrait of 
each of them. “Contrive to agree with them separately,” 
added the philosopher, “and they will end by all liking 
you.” 

Carolus agreed to everything. The three friends soon 
arrived with their friends of the other sex. Rodolphe was 
polite to Carolus, Schaunard familiar with him, Marcel 
remained cold. Carolus forced himself to be gay and 
amiable with the men, and indifferent to the women. 
When they broke up for the night, he asked Rodolphe to 
dine with him next day, and to come as early as noon. 
The poet accepted, saying to himself, “Good! I am to 
begin the inquiry, then.” 

Next morning, at the hour appointed, he called on 
Carolus, who did indeed live in a very handsome private 
house, where he occupied a sufficiently comfortable room. 
But Rodolphe was surprised to find at that time of day 
the shutters closed, the curtains drawn, and two lighted 
candles on the table. He asked Barbemuche the reason, 

“Study,” replied the other, “ is the child of mystery and 
silence.” 


142 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUABTER. 


They sat down and talked. At the end of an hour, 
Carolus, with infinite oratorial address, brought in a phrase 
which, despite its humble form, was neither more nor 
less than a summons made to Rodolphe to hear a little 
work, the fruit of Barbemuche’s vigils. 

The poet saw himself caught. Curious, however, to 
learn the colour of the other’s style, he bowed politely, 
assured him that he was enchanted, that 

Carolus did not wait for him to finish the sentence. He 
ran to bolt the door, and then took up a small memo- 
randum-book, the thinness of which brought a smile of 
satisfaction to the poet’s face. 

‘‘Is that the manuscript of your work he asked. 

“ No,” replied Carolus ; “it is the catalogue of m> 
manuscripts ; and I am looking for the one which you 
will allow me to read you. Here it is : ‘ Don Lopez ; or. 
Fatality. No. 14.’ It’s on the third shelf;” and he 
proceeded to open a small closet in which Rodolphe 
perceived, with terror, a great quantity of manuscripts. 
Carolus took out one of these, shut the closet, and seated 
himself in front of the poet. 

Rodolphe cast a glance at one of the four piles of 
elephant-paper of which the work was composed. 
“Come,” said he to himself, “it’s not in verse, but it's 
called ‘ Don Lopez.’ ” 

Carolus began to read : 

“On a cold winter night, two cavaliers, enveloped in 
large cloaks, and mounted on sluggish mules, were 
making their way side by side over one of the roads which 
traverse the frightful solitudes of the Sierra Morena. 

“May the Lord have mercy on me!” ejaculated 
Rodolphe, mentally. 

Carolus continued to read his first chapter, written in 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 143 

the style of the above throughout. Rodolphe listened 
vaguely, and tried to devise some means of escape. 

“ There is the window, but its fastened ; and, beside, 
we are in the fourth story. Ah, now I understand all 
these precautions. ” 

“What do you think of my first chapter.?” asked 
Carolus ; “do not spare criticism, I beg of you. ” 

Rodolphe thought he remembered having heard some 
scraps of philosophical declamation upon suicide, put 
forth by the hero of the romance, Don Lopez, to wit ; so 
he replied at hazard : 

“The grand figure of Don Lopez is conscientiously 
studied ; it reminds me of the ^ Savoyard Vicar's 
Confession of Faith ; ’ the description of Don Alvar’s mule 
pleases me exceedingly; it is like a sketch of Gericault’s. 
There are good lines in the landscape ; as to the thoughts, 
they are seeds of Rousseau planted in the soil of Lesage. 
Only allow me to make one observation ; you use too 
many stops, and you work the word henceforward too 
hard. It is a good word, and gives colour, but should 
not be abused. 

Carolus took up a second pile of paper, and repeated the 
title “Don Lopez; or, Fatality.” 

“I knew a Don Lopez once,” said Rodolphe ; “he 
used to sell cigarettes and Bayonne chocolate ; perhaps 
he was a relation of your man. Go on.” 

At the conclusion of the second chapter, the poet in- 
terrupted his host : 

“ Don’t you feel your throat a little dry ? ” he inquired. 

“ Not at all,” replied Carolus ; “we are coming to the 
history of Inesilla.” 

“I am very curious to hear it ; nevertheless, if you 
are tired ” 

“Chapter third ! ” enunciated Carolus, in a voice that 
gave no signs of fatigue. 


144 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

Rodolphe took a careful survey of Barbemuche, and 
perceived that he had a short neck and a ruddy com- 
plexion. I have one hope left,” thought the poet, on 
making this discovery. “ He may have an attack of 
apoplexy. ” 

“ Will you be so good as to tell me what you think of 
the love scene ? ” 

Carolus looked at Rodolphe to observe in his face what 
effect the dialogue produced upon him. The poet was 
bending forward on his chair, with his neck stretched out 
in the attitude of one who is listening for some distant 
sound. 

What’s the matter with you ? ” 

“Hist ! ” said Rodolphe, “ don’t you hear ? I thought 
somebody cried fire? Suppose we go and see.” 

Carolus listened an instant, but heard nothing. 

“ It must have been a ringing in my ears,” said the 
other. “Goon; Don Alvar interests me exceedingly; 
he is a noble youth.” 

Carolus continued with all the music that he could put 
into his voice : 

“O Inesilla ! whatever thou art, angel or demon ; and 
whatever be thy country, my life is thine, and thee will I 
follow, be it to heaven or hell ! ” 

Some one knocked at the door. 

“It’s my porter,” said Barbemuche, half opening the 
door. 

It was indeed the porter with a letter. “What an un- 
lucky chance I” cried Carolus, after he had perused it. 
“We must put off our reading till some other time; I 
have to go out immediately. If you please, we will 
execute this little commission together, as it is nothing 
private, and then we can come back to dinner.” 

“There,” thought Rodolphe, “ is a letter that has fallen 
from heaven ; I recognize the seal of Providence.” 


The poet was bending forward 



THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTER. 145 

When he rejoined the comrades that night, the poet was 
interrogated by Marcel and Schaunard. 

“Did he treat you well? '' they asked. 

“Yes, but I paid dear for it.” 

“How! Did Carolus make you pay?” demanded 
Schaunard, with rising choler. 

“He read a novel at me, inside of which the people are 
named Don Lopez and Don Alvar ; and the tenors call 
their mistresses ‘angel,' or ‘demon.’” 

“ How shocking 1” cried the Bohemians, in chorus. 

“ But otherwise,” said Colline, “literature apart, what 
is your opinion of him ? ” 

“A very nice young man. You can judge for your- 
selves ; Carolus means to treat us all in turn ; he invites 
Schaunard to breakfast with him to-morrow. Only look 
out for the closet with the manuscripts in it.” 

Schaunard was punctual and went to work with the 
minuteness of an auctioneer taking an inventory, or a 
sheriff levying an execution. Accordingly he came back 
full of notes ; he had studied Carolus chiefly in respect of 
his movables and worldly goods. 

“This Barbemuche,” he said, on being asked his 
opinion, “is a lump of good qualities. He knows the 
names of all the wines that ever were invented, and made 
me eat more nice things than my aunt ever did on her 
birthday. He is on very good terms with the tailors in 
the Rue Vivienne, and the bootmakers of the Passage des 
Panoramas ; and I have observed that he is nearly our 
size, so that, in case of need, we can lend him our clothes. 
His habits are less austere than Colline chose to represent 
them ; he went wherever I pleased to take him, and gave 
me a breakfast in two acts, the second of which went off 
in a tavern by the fish-market where I am known for some 
Carnival orgies. Well, Carolus went in there as an 
ordinary mortal might, and that’s all. Marcel goes to- 
morrow.” 


146 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

Carolus knew that Marcel was the one who had made 
the most objections to his reception. Accordingly, he 
treated him with particular attention, and especially won 
his heart by holding out the hope of procuring him some 
sitters in the family of his pupil. When it came to 
Marcel’s turn to make his report, there were no traces of 
his original hostility to Carolus. 

On the fourth day, Colline informed Barbemuche that 
he was admitted, but under conditions. “You have 
a number of vulgar habits,” he said, “which must be 
reformed. ” 

“ I shall do my best to imitate you,” said Carolus. 

During the whole time of his noviciate the Platonic 
philosopher kept company with the Bohemians contin- 
ually, and was thus enabled to study their habits more 
thoroughly, not without being very much astonished at 
times. One morning, Colline came to see him with a 
joyful face. 

“ My dear fellow,” he said, “ it’s all over ; you are now 
definitely one of us. It only remains to fix the day and 
the place of the grand entertainment ; I have come to talk 
with you about it.” 

“That can be arranged with perfect ease,” said Carolus ; 
“the parents of my pupil are out of town; the young 
viscount, whose mentor I am, will lend us the apart- 
ments for an evening, only we must invite him to the 
party. ” 

“That will be very nice,” replied Colline; “we will 
open to him the vistas of literature ; but do you think 
he will consent? ” 

“I am sure of it.” 

“Then it only remains to fix the day.” 

“We will settle that to-night at the cafe.” 

Carolus then went to find his pupil, and announced to 
him that he had just been elected into a distinguished 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEK. 


147 


society of literary men and artists, and that he was going 
to give a dinner, followed by a little party, to celebrate 
his admission ; he therefore proposed to him to make one 
of the guests. ‘‘And since you cannot be out late,” 
added Carolus, “and the entertainment may last some 
time, it will be for our convenience to have it here. Your 
servant Francois knows how to hold his tongue ; your 
parents will know nothing of it ; and you will have made 
acquaintance with some of the cleverest people in Paris, 
artists and authors.” 

“In print? ” asked the youth. 

“Certainly. One of them edits “The Scarf of Iris,” 
“which your mother takes in. They are very distin- 
guished persons, almost celebrities, intimate friends of 
mine, and their wives are charming.” 

“Will there be some women?” asked Viscount Paul. 

“Delightful ones,” returned Carolus. 

“O, my dear master, I thank you; the entertainment 
shall certainly take place here ; all the lustres shall be lit 
up, and I will have the wrappers taken off the furniture.” 

That night, at the cafe, Barbemuche announced that 
the party would come off next Saturday. The Bohemians 
told their mistresses to think about their toilettes. 

“Do not forget,” said they, “that we are going into 
real drawing-rooms. Therefore, make ready a rich but 
simple costume.” 

And from that day all the neighbourhood was informed 
that Mesdemoiselles Phemie, Mimi, and Musette, were 
going into society. 

On the morning of the festivity, Colline, Schaunard, 
Marcel, and Rodolphe, called in a body, on Barbe- 
muche, who looked astonished to see them so early. 

“ Has anything happened which will oblige us to put 
it off ? ” he asked, with some anxiety. 

“Yes — that is, no” — said Colline; “this is how we 


148 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


are placed. Among ourselves we never stand on cere- 
mony, but when we are to meet strangers, we wish to 
preserve a certain decorum.” 

“ Well? ” said the other. 

“ Well,” continued Colline, “ since we are to meet to- 
night the young gentleman to whom we are indebted for 
the rooms, out of respect to him and to ourselves, we 
come simply to ask you if you cannot lend us some be- 
coming toggery. It is almost impossible, you see, for us 
to enter this gorgeous roof in frock-coats and colored 
trousers. ” 

But,” said Carolus, “ I have not black clothes for all 
of you.” 

“ We will make do with what you have,” said Colline. 

Suit yourselves, then,” said Carolus, opening a well- 
furnished wardrobe. 

“ What an arsenal of elegancies ! ” said Marcel. 

“Three hats!” exclaimed Schaunard, in ecstasy; 
“ can a man want three hats when he has but one 
head?” 

“ And the boots ! ” said Rodolphe, “ only look ! ” 

“ What a number of boots 1 ” howled Colline. 

In the twinkling of an eye each had selected a complete 
equipment. 

“Till this evening, ” said they, taking leave of Barbe- 
muche ; “ the ladies intend to be most dazzling.” 

“ But,” said Barbemuche, casting a glance at the 
emptied wardrobe, “ you have left me nothing. What 
am I to wear? ” 

“Ah, it’s different with you,” said Rodolphe; “you 
are the master of the house ; you need not stand upon 
etiquette. ” 

“But I have only my dressing-gown and slippers, flannel 
waistcoat and trousers with stocking-feet. You have 
taken everything.” 



At the party. 



THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 149 
Never mind ; we excuse you beforehand," replied the 

four. 

A very good dinner was served at six. The company 
arrived, Marcel limping and out of humour. The young 
viscount rushed up to the ladies and led them to the best 
seats. Mimi was dressed with fanciful elegance ; Musette 
got up with seductive taste; Phemie looked like a stained 
glass window, and hardly dared sit down. 

The dinner lasted two hours and a half and was delight- 
fully lively. The young viscount, who sat next to Mimi, 
kept treading on her foot. Phemie took twice of every 
dish, Schaunard was in clover. Rodolphe improvised son- 
nets and broke glasses in marking the rhythm. Colline 
talked to Marcel, who remained sulky. 

“ What is the matter with you?" asked the philosopher. 
My feet are in torture ; this Carolus has boots like a 
woman’s. " 

“ He must be given to understand that, for the future, 
some of his shoes are to be made a little larger ; be easy, 
I will see to it. — But now to the drawing-room, where the 
coffee and liqueurs await us." 

The revelry re-commenced with increased noise. Schau- 
nard seated himself at the piano and executed, with im- 
mense spirit, his new symphony, ** The Death of the 
Damsel.” To this succeeded the characteristic piece of 
* ‘ The Creditor’s March," which was twice encored, and 
two chords of the piano were broken. 

Marcel was still morose, and replied to the complaints 
and expostulations of Carolus : 

“ My dear sir, we shall never be intimate friends, and 
for this reason : Physical differences are almost always 
the certain sign of a moral difference ; on this point philo- 
sophy and medicine agree." 

“ Well?" said Carolus. 

“Well,” continued Marcel, showing his feet, **70111 


160 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

boots, infinitely too small for me, indicate a radical dif- 
ference of temper and character ; in other respects, your 
little party has been charming. " 

At one in the morning the guests took leave, and zig- 
zagged homeward. Barbemuche felt very ill, and made 
incoherent harangues to his pupil, who, for his part, was 
dreaming of Mademoiselle Mimi s blue eyes. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEK. 


151 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE HOUSE-WARMING. 

This took place some time after the union of the poet 
Rodolphe with Mademoiselle Mimi. For a week the 
whole of the Bohemian brotherhood were grievously per- 
turbed by the disappearance of Rodolphe, who had sud- 
denly become invisible. They had sought for him in all 
his customary haunts, and had everywhere been met by 
the same reply — 

“ We have not seen him for a week.^’ 

Gustave Colline above all was very uneasy, and for the 
following reason. A few days previously he had handed 
to Rodolphe a highly philosophical article, which the 
latter was to insert in the columns of “The Beaver,” the 
organ of the hat trade, of which he was editor. Had this 
philosophical article burst upon the gaze of astonished 
Europe ? Such was the query put to himself by tne as- 
tonished Colline, and this anxiety will be understood when 
it is explained that the philosopher had never yet had the 
honour of appearing in print, and that he was consumed 
by the desire of seeing what effect would be produced by 
his prose in pica. To procure himself this gratification 
he had already expended six francs in visiting all the 
reading rooms of Paris without being able to find “The 
Beaver,*' in any one of them. Not being able to stand 
it any longer, Colline swore to himself that he would not 
take a moment’s rest till he had laid hands on the undis- 
coverable editor of this paper. 

Aided by chances which it would take too long to tell 


152 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

in detail, the philosopher was able to keep his word. 
Within two days he learned Rodolphe’s abiding-place, and 
called on him there at six in the morning. 

Rodolphe was then residing in a lodging house in a 
deserted street situate in the Faubourg Saint Germain, and 
was perched on the fifth floor because there was not a 
sixth. When Colline came to his door there was no key 
in the lock outside. He knocked for ten minutes without 
obtaining any answer from within ; the din he made at 
this early hour attracted the attention of even the porter, 
who came to ask him to be quiet. 

“You see very well that the gentleman is asleep,’' said 
he. 

“That is why I want to wake him up,” replied Colline, 
knocking again. 

“He does not want to answer, then,” replied the por- 
ter, placing before Rodolphe’s door a pair of patent leather 
boots and a pair of lady’s boots that he had just cleaned. 

“Wait a bit, though,” observed Colline, examining the 
masculine and feminine foot-gear. ‘ ‘ New patent leathers I 
I must have made a mistake ; it cannot be here.” 

“Yes; by the way,” said the porter, “whom do you 
want ? ” 

“A woman’s boots!” continued Colline, speaking to 
himself, and thinking of his friend’s austere manners ; 
“ yes, certainly T must have made a mistake. This is not 
Rodolphe’s room.” 

“I beg your pardon, sir, it is. 

“ You must be making a mistake, my good man.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” 

“Decidedly you must be making a mistake,” said 
Colline, pointing to the patent leather boots. “What are 
those.?” 

“ Those are Monsieur Rodolphe’s boots. What is there 
to be wondered at in that? ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 153 

‘‘And these?” asked Colline, pointing to the lady's 
boots ; “are they Monsieur Rodolphe’s too?” 

“Those are his wife’s,” said the porter. 

“ His wife’s ! ” exclaimed Colline in a tone of stupefac- 
tion. “Ah ! the voluptuary, that is why he will not open 
the door. ” 

“Well,” said the porter, “he is free to do as he likes 
about that, sir. If you will leave me your name I will let 
him know you called.” 

“No,” said Colline, “now that I know where to find 
him I will call again.” 

And he at once went off to tell the important news to 
his friends. 

Rodolphe’s patent leathers were generally considered 
to be a fable due to Colline’s wealth of imagination, and 
it was unanimously declared that his mistress was a 
paradox. 

This paradox was, however, a truism, for that very 
evening Marcel received a letter collectively addressed to 
the whole of the set. It was as follows : — 

“Monsieur and Madame Rodolphe, literati, beg you to 
favour them with your company at dinner to-morrow 
evening at five o’clock sharp. 

“N. B. — There will be plates.’* 

“Gentlemen,” said Marcel, when communicating the 
letter to his comrades, “the news is confirmed ; Rodolphe 
has really a mistress ; further, he invites us to dinner, and 
the postcript promises crockery. I will not conceal from 
you that this last paragraph seems to me a lyrical exag- 
geration, but we shall see.” 

The following day at the hour named, Marcel, Gustave 
Colline, and Alexandre Schaunard, keen set as on the last 
day of Lent, went to Rodolphe’s, whom they found play- 


154 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


ing with a sandy-haired cat, whilst a young woman was 
laying the table. 

“Gentlemen,” said Rodolphe, shaking his friends’ 
hands, and indicating the young lady, “allow me to 
introduce you to the mistress of the household.” 

“You are the household, are you not.?” said Colline, 
who had a mania for this kind of joke. 

“Mimi,” replied Rodolphe, “ I present my best friends ; 
now go and get the soup ready.” 

“Oh, madame,” said Alexandre Schaunard, hastening 
towards Mimi, “you are as fresh as a wild flower.” 

After having satisfied himself that there were really 
plates on the table, Schaunard asked what they were going 
to have to eat. He even carried his curiosity so far as to 
lift up the covers of the stewpans in which the dinner was 
cooking. The presence of a lobster produced a lively 
impression upon him. 

As to Colline, he had drawn Rodolphe aside to ask 
about his philosophical article. 

“ My dear fellow, it is at the printer's. ‘The Beaver ’ 
appears next Thursday.” 

We give up the task of depicting the philosopher’s 
delight. 

“Gentlemen,” said Rodolphe to his friends, “I ask 
your pardon for leaving you so long without any news of 
me, but I was spending my honeymoon.” And he nar- 
rated the story of his union with the charming creature 
who had brought him as a dowry her eighteen years and 
a half, two porcelain cups, and a sandy-haired cat named 
Mimi, like herself. 

“ Come, gentlemen,” said Rodolphe, “we are going to 
celebrate my house-warming. I forewarn you, though, 
that we are about to have merely a family repast ; truffles 
will be replaced by frank cordiality.” 

Indeed, that amiable goddess did not cease to reign 


THE BOHEx^IANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 155 

amongst the guests, who found, however, that the so- 
called frugal repast did not lack a certain amplitude. 
Rodolphe, indeed, had spread himself out. Colline called 
attention to the fact that the plates were changed, and 
declared aloud that Mademoiselle Mimi was worthy of the 
azure scarf with which the empresses of the cooking-stove 
were adorned, a phrase which was Greek to the young 
girl, and which Rodolphe translated by telling her “ that 
she would make a capital cordon bleud' 

The appearance on the scene of the lobster caused uni- 
versal admiration. Under the pretext that he had studied 
natural history, Schaunard suggested that he should carve 
it. He even profited by this circumstance to break a knife 
and to take the largest help for himself, which excited 
general indignation. But Schaunard had no self-respect, 
above all in the matter of lobsters, and as there was still 
a portion left, he had the audacity to put it on one side, 
saying that it would do for a model for a still-life piece he 
had on hand. 

Indulgent friendship feigned to believe this fiction, the 
fruit of immoderate gluttony. 

As to Colline he reserved his sympathies for the dessert, 
and was even obstinate enough to cruelly refuse his share 
of a tipsy cake against a ticket of admission to the 
orangery of Versailles offered him by Schaunard. 

At this point conversation began to get lively. To three 
bottles with red seals succeeded three bottles with green 
seals, in the midst of which shortly appeared one which 
by its neck topped with a silver helmet, was recognized 
as belonging to the Royal Champagne Regiment — a fan- 
tastic champagne vintaged at Saint Ouen, and sold in 
Paris at two francs the bottle as bankrupt’s stock, so the 
vendor asserted. 

But it is not the district that makes the wine, and our 
Bohemians accepted as the authentic growth of Ai the 


156 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

liquor that was served out to them in the appropriate 
glasses, and despite the scant degree of vivacity shown by 
the cork in popping from its prison, went into ecstasies 
over the excellence of the vintage on seeing the quantity 
of froth. Schaunard summoned up all his remaining self- 
possession to make a mistake as regards glasses, and help 
himself to that of Colline, who kept gravely dipping his 
biscuit in the mustard-pot as he explained to Mademoiselle 
Mimi the philosophical article that was to appear in The 
Beaver.” All at once he grew pale, and asked leave to go 
to the window and look at the sunset, although it was 
ten o'clock at night, and the sun had set long ago. 

“ It is a pity the Champagne is not iced,” said Schaun- 
ard, again trying to substitute his empty glass for the full 
one of his neighbour, an attempt this time without success. 

“Madame,” observed Colline, who had ceased to take 
the fresh air, to Mimi, “Champagne is iced with ice. Ice 
is formed by the condensation of water, in Latin aqua. 
Water freezes at two degrees, and there are four seasons, 
spring, summer, autumn and winter, which was the cause 
of the retreat from Moscow.” 

All at once Colline suddenly slapped Rodolphe on the 
shoulder, and in a thick voice that seemed to mash all the 
syllables together, said to him — 

“ To-morrow is Thursday, is it not .? ” 

“No,” replied Rodolphe, “to-morrow is Sunday.” 

“ Thursday.” 

“No, I tell you ; to-morrow is Sunday.” 

“Sunday!” said Colline, wagging his head; “not a 
bit of it, it is Thursday. ” 

And he fell asleep, making a mould for a cast of his face 
in the cream cheese that was before him in his plate. 

“ What is he harping aboutThursday ? ” observed Mar- 
cel. 

“ Ah ! I have it,” said Rodolphe, who began to under- 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 157 

stand the persistency of the philosopher, tormented by a 
fixed idea, “ it is on account of his article in ‘ The Beaver. ’ 
Listen, he is dreaming of it aloud.” 

‘ ‘ Good, ” said Schaunardf ‘ ‘ he shall not have any coffee, 
eh, madame?” 

“ By the way,” said Rodolphe, “pour out the coffee, 
Mimi. ” 

The latter was about to rise, when Colline, who had 
recovered a little self-possession, caught her round the 
waist and whispered confidentially in her ear : 

“ Madame, the coffee plant is a native of Arabia, where 
it was discovered by a goat. Its use extended to Europe. 
Voltaire used to drink seventy cups a day. I like mine 
without sugar, but very hot.” 

“ Good heavens ! what a learned man I ” thought Mimi, 
as she brought the coffee and pipes. 

However time was getting on, midnight had long since 
struck, and Rodolphe sought to make his guests understand 
that it was time for them to withdraw. Marcel, who 
retained all his senses, got up to go. 

But Schaunard perceiv^ed that there was still some 
brandy in a bottle, and declared that it could not be mid- 
night so long as there was any left. As to Colline he w'as 
sitting astride his chair and murmuring in a low voice : 

“Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday.” 

“ Hang it all,” said Rodolphe, greatly embarrassed, “I 
cannot give them quarters here to-night ; formerly it was 
all very well, but now it is another thing, ” he added look- 
ing at Mimi, whose softly kindling eye seemed to appeal 
for solitude for their two selves. “ What is to be done ? 
Give me a bit of advice, Marcel. Invent a trick to get 
rid of them. ” 

“No; I won't invent,” replied Marcel, “but I will imi- 
tate. I remember a play in which a sharp servant man- 
ages to get rid of three rascals as drunk as Silenus who are 
at his master’s. ” 


158 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“I recollect it/’ said Rodolphe, ‘Mt is in ‘Kean.' In- 
deed, the situation is the same.” 

“Well,” said Marcel, “ we will see if the stage holds 
the glass up to human nature. Stop a bit, we will begin 
with Schaunard. Here, I say, Schaunard.” 

“Eh.? What is it?” replied the latter, who seemed to 
be floating in the elysium of mild intoxication. 

“There is nothing more to drink here, and we are all 
thirsty. ” 

“Yes,” said Schaunard, “bottles are so small.” 

“Well,” continued Marcel, “Rodolphe has decided 
that we shall pass the night here, but we must go and 
get something before the shops are shut.” 

“ My grocer lives at the corner of the street,” said Ro- 
dolphe. “Do you mind going there, Schaunard? You 
can fetch two bottles of rum, to be put down to me.” 

“Oh! yes, certainly,” said Schaunard, making a mis- 
take in his greatcoat and taking that of Colline, who was 
tracing figures on the tablecloth with his knife. 

‘ ‘ One, ” said Marcel, when Schaunard had gone. ‘ ‘ Now 
let us tackle Colline, that will be a harder job. Ah ! an 
idea. Hi, hi, Colline,” he continued, shaking the philoso- 
pher. 

“ What ? what ? what is it ? ” 

“Schaunard has just gone, and has taken your hazel 
overcoat by mistake.” 

Colline glanced round again, and perceived indeed in 
the place of his garment, Schaunard’s little plaid over- 
coat. A sudden idea flashed across his mind and filled 
him with uneasiness. Colline, according to his custom, 
had been book-hunting during the day, and had bought 
for fifteen sous a Finnish grammar and a little novel of 
Nisard’s entitled “The Milkwoman’s Funeral.” These 
two acquisitions were accompanied by seven or eight 
volumes of philosophy that he had always about him as 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 159 

an arsenal whence to draw reasons in case of an argu- 
ment. The idea of this library being in the hands of 
Schaui'.ard threw him in a cold perspiration. 

“The wretch ! ” exclaimed Colline, “ what did he take 
my greatcoat for ^ ” 

“It was by mistake.” 

“ But my books. He may put them to some improper 
purpose.” 

“ Do not be afraid, he will not read them,” said Ro- 
dolphe. 

“No, but I know him ; he is capable of lighting his pipe 
with them.” 

“ If you are uneasy you can catch him up,” said Ro- 
dolphe; he has only just this moment gone out, you will 
overtake him at the street door.” 

“Certainly I will overtake him,” replied Colline, putting 
on his hat, the brim of which was so broad that tea for 
six people might have been served upon it. 

“Two,” said Marcel to Rodolphe, “now you are free. 
I am off, and I will tell the porter not to open the outer 
door if anyone knocks. ” 

“ Good-night, and thanks,” said Rodolphe. 

As he was showing his friend out Rodolphe heard on 
the staircase a prolonged mew, to which his carroty cat 
replied by another, whilst trying at the same time to slip 
out adroitly by the half-open door. 

“Poor Romeo!” said Rodolphe, ‘Hhere is his Juliet 
calling him. Come, off with you,” he added, opening the 
door to the enamoured beast, who made a single leap down 
the stairs into its lover’s arms. 

Left alone with his mistress, who standing before the 
glass was curling her hair in a charmingly provocative 
attitude, Rodolphe approached Mimi and passed his arms 
round her. Then, like a musician, who before commenc- 
ing a piece, strikes a series of notes to assure himself of 


160 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

the capacity of the instrument, Rodolphe drew Mimi on 
to his knee, and printed on her shoulder a long and sono- 
rous kiss, which imparted a sudden vibration to the frame 
of the youthful beauty. 

The instrument was in tune. 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. 


161 


CHAPTER XIV. 

MADEMOISELLE MIMI. 

Oh ! my friend Rodolphe, what has happened to 
change you thus ? Am I to believe the rumours that are 
current, and that this misfortune has broken down to such 
a degree your robust philosophy ? How can I, the histo- 
rian in ordinary of your Bohemian epic, so full of joyous 
bursts of laughter, narrate in a sufficiently melancholy 
tone the painful adventure which casts a veil over your 
constant gaiety and suddenly checks the ringing flow of 
your paradoxes ? 

Oh I Rodolphe, my friend, I admit that the evil is seri- 
ous ; but there, really it is not worth while throwing oneself 
into the water about it. So I invite you to bury the past 
as soon as possible. Shun above all the solitude peopled 
with phantoms who would help to render your regrets 
eternal. Shun the silence where the echoes of recollec- 
tion would still be full of your past joys and sorrows. 
Cast boldly to all the winds of forgetfulness the name you 
have so fondly cherished, and with it all that still remains 
to you of her who bore it. Curls pressed by lips mad 
with desire, a Venice flask in which there still lurks a re- 
mainder of perfume, which at this moment it would be 
more dangerous for you to breathe than all the poisons in 
the world. To the fire with the flowers, the flowers of 
gauze, silk and velvet, the white geraniums, the anemones 
empurpled by the blood of Adonis, the blue forget-me-nots 
and all those charming bouquets that she put together in 
the far-off days of your brief happiness. Then I loved 

II 


162 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


her too, your Mimi, and saw no danger in your loving 
her. But follow my advice — to the fire with the ribbons, 
the pretty pink, blue, and yellow ribbons which she wore 
round her neck to attract the eye ; to the fire with the 
lace, the caps, the veils and all the coquettish trifles with 
which she bedecked herself to go love-making with Mon- 
sieur Cesar, Monsieur Jerome, Monsieur Charles, or any 
other gallant in the calendar, whilst you w'ere awaiting 
her at your window, shivering from the wintry blast. To 
the fire, Rodolphe, and without pity, with all that be- 
longed to her and could still speak to you of her ; to the 
fire with the love letters. Ah ! here is one of them, and 
your tears have bedewed it like a fountain. Oh ! my un- 
happy friend I 

** As you have not come in, I am going out to call on 
my aunt. I have taken what money there was for a cab.. 

Lucile.” 

That evening, oh ! Rodolphe, you had, do you not rec- 
ollect, to go without your dinner, and you called on me 
and let off a volley of jests which fully attested your tran- 
quillity of mind For you believed Lucile was at her 
aunt's and if I had told you that she was with Monsieur 
Cesar or with an actor of the Montparnasse Theatre, you 
would have cut my throat ! To the fire, too, with this 
other note, which has all the laconic affection of the first. 

“ I am gone out to order some boots; you must find 
the money for me to go and fetch them to-morrow." 

Ah ! my friend those boots have danced many qua- 
drilles in which you did not figure as a partner. To the 
flames with all these remembrances, and to the winds 
with their ashes. 

But in the first place, oh Rodolphe ! for the love of 
humanity and the reputation of ^‘The Scarf of Ins " and 


THE BOHEMIANS OJ?* THE LATIN QUARTER. 163 

^‘The Beaver,” resume the reins of good taste that you 
have egotistically dropped during your sufferings, or else 
horrible things may happen for which you will be re- 
sponsible. We may go back to leg-of-mutton sleeves 
and frilled trousers, and some fine day see hats come into 
fashion which would afflict the universe and call down 
the wrath of heaven. 

And now the moment is come to relate the loves of our 
friend Rodolphe and Mademoiselle Mimi. It was just as 
he was turned four and twenty that Rodolphe was sud- 
denly smitten with the passion that had such an influence 
upon his life. At the time he met Mimi he was leading 
that broken and fantastic existence that we have tried to 
describe in the preceding chapters of this book. He was 
certainly one of the gayest endurers of poverty in the 
world of Bohemia. When in course of the day he had 
made a poor dinner and a smart remark, he walked more 
proudly in his black coat (pleading for help through every 
gaping seam) along the pavement that often promised to 
be his only resting place for the night, than an emperor in 
his purple robe. In the group amongst whom Rodolphe 
lived, they affected, after a fashion common enough 
amongst some young fellows, to treat love as a thing of 
luxury, a pretext for jesting. Gustave Colline, who had 
for a long time past been in intimate relations with a 
waistcoat maker, whom he was rendering deformed in 
mind and body by obliging her to sit day and night copy- 
ing the manuscripts of his philosophical works, asserted 
that love was a kind of purgative, good to take at the be- 
ginning of each season in order to get rid of humors. 
Amidst all these false sceptics Rodolphe was the only one 
who dared to talk of love with some reverence, and when 
they had the misfortune to let him harp on this string, he 
would go on for an hour plaintively warbling elegies on 
the happiness of being loved, the deep blue of the peace- 


1(54 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN (^UAKTER. 

ful lake, the song of the breeze, the harmony of the stars, 
etc., etc. This mania had caused him to be nicknamed 
the harmonica by Schaunard. Marcel had also made on 
this subject a very neat remark when, alluding to the 
Teutonically sentimental tirades of Rodolphe and to his 
premature calvity, he called him the bald forget-me-not. 
The real truth was this. Rodolphe then seriously believed 
that he had done with all things of youth and love ; he 
insolently chanted a De pro/undis over his heart, which 
he thought dead when it was only silent, yet still ready 
to awake, still accessible to joy, and more susceptible 
than ever to all the sweet pangs that he no longer hoped 
for, and that were now driving him to despair. You 
would have it, Rodolphe, and we shall not pity you, for 
the disease from which you are suffering is one of those 
we long for most, above all when we know that w^e are 
cured of it for ever. 

Rodolphe then met Mimi, whom he had formerly known 
when she was the mistress of one of his friends ; and he 
made her his own. There was at first a great outcry 
amongst Rodolphe’s friends when they learned this union, 
but as Mademoiselle Mimi was very taking, not at all 
prudish, and could stand tobacco-smoke and literary con- 
versations without a headache, they became accustomed to 
her and treated her as a comrade. Mimi was a charming 
girl, and especially adapted for both the plastic and poetical 
sympathies of Rodolphe. She was twenty-two years of 
age, small, delicate, and arch. Her face seemed the first 
sketch of an aristocratic countenance, but her features, 
extremely fine in outline, and as it were, softly lit up by 
the light of her clear blue eyes, wore, at certain moments 
of weariness or ill-humor, an expression of almost savage 
brutality, in which a physiologist would perhaps have rec- 
ognized the indication of profound egotism or great in- 
sensibility. But hers was usually a charming head, with a 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 165 

fresh and youthful smile and glances either tender or full 
of imperious coquetry. The blood of youth flowed warm 
and rapid in her veins, and imparted rosy tints to her 
transparent skin of camellia-like whiteness. This un- 
healthy beauty captivated Rodolphe, and he often during 
the night spent hours in covering with kisses the pale 
forehead of his slumbering mistress, whose humid and 
weary eyes shone half-closed beneath the curtain of her 
magnificent brown hair. But what contributed above all 
to make Rodolphe madly in love with IVIademoiselle Mimi 
were her hands, which, in spite of household cares, she 
managed to keep as white as those of the Goddess of 
Idleness. However, these hands so frail, so tiny, so soft 
to the lips ; these child-like hands in which Rodolphe had 
placed his once more awakened heart ; these white hands 
of Mademoiselle Mimi were soon to rend that heart with 
their rosy nails. 

At the end of a month Rodolphe began to perceive that 
he was wedded to a thunderstorm, and that his mistress 
had one great fault. She was a “gadabout,*' as they say, 
and spent a great part of her time amongst the kept 
women of the neighbourhood, whose acquaintance she 
had made. The result that Rodolphe had feared, when 
he perceived the relations contracted by his mistress, soon 
took place. The variable opulence of some of her new 
friends caused a forest of ambitious ideas to spring up in 
the mind of Mademoiselle Mimi, who up till then had 
only had modest tastes, and was content with the neces- 
saries of life that Rodolphe did his best to procure for her. 
Mimi began to dream of silks, velvets, and lace. And, 
despite Rodolphe’s prohibition, she continued to frequent 
these women, who were all of one mind in persuading 
her to break off with the Bohemian who could not even 
give her a hundred and fifty francs to buy a stuff dress. 

“Pretty as you are," said her advisers, “ you can easily 


166 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


secure a better position. You have only to look for it.” 

And Mademoiselle Mimi began to look. A witness of 
her frequent absences, clumsily accounted for, Rodolphe 
entered upon the painful track of suspicion. But as soon 
as he felt himself on the trail of some proof of infidelity, 
he eagerly drew a bandage over his eyes in order to see 
nothing. However, whatever might be the case, he wor- 
shipped Mimi. He felt for her a strange, jealous, fan- 
tastic, quarrelsome love which the girl did not understand, 
because she then only felt for Rodolphe that lukewarm 
attachment resulting from habit. Besides, half of her heart 
had already been expended over her first love, and the other 
half was still full of the remembrance of her first lover. 

Eight months passed by in this fashion, good and evil 
days alternating. During this period Rodolphe was a 
score of times on the point of separating from Mademoi- 
selle Mimi, who had for him all the clumsy cruelties of 
the woman who does not love. Properly speaking, this 
life had become a hell for both. But Rodolphe had grown 
accustomed to these daily struggles, and dreaded nothing 
so much as a cessation of this state of things ; for he felt 
that with it would cease for ever the fevers and agitations 
of youth that he had not felt for so long. And then, if 
everything must be told, there were hours in which Made- 
moiselle Mimi knew how to make Rodolphe forget all the 
suspicions that were tearing at his heart. There were 
moments when she caused him to bend like a child at her 
knee beneath the charm of her blue eyes — the poet to 
whom she had given back his lost poetry — the young man 
to whom she had restored his youth, and who, thanks to 
her, was once more beneath loves equator. Two or 
three times a month, amidst these stormy quarrels, Ro- 
dolphe and Mimi halted with one accord at the verdant 
oasis of a night of love and sweet communion. Then 
Rodolphe would take in his arms the smiling, animated 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 167 

countenance of his love, and for whole hours would give 
himself up to addressing her in that charming yet absurd 
language that passion improvises in its hours of delirium. 
Mimi listened calmly at first, rather astonished than moved, 
but, in the end, the enthusiastic eloquence of Rodolphe, 
by turns tender, lively, and melancholy, won on her by 
degrees. She felt the ice of indifference that numbed her 
heart melt at the contact of this love ; she would throw 
herself on Rodolphe's breast, and tell him by kisses all 
that she was unable to tell him in words. And dawn sur- 
prised them thus enlaced together — eyes fixed on eyes, 
hands clasped in hands — whilst their moist and burning 
lips were still murmuring that immortal word “that for 
five thousand years has lingered nightly on lovers’ lips.” 

But the next day the most futile pretext brought about a 
quarrel, and love alarmed fled again for some time. 

In the end, however, Rodolphe perceived that if he did 
not take care the white hands of Mademoiselle Mimi would 
lead him to an abyss in which he would leave his future 
and his youth. For a moment stern reason spoke in him 
more strongly than love, and he convinced himself by 
strong arguments, backed up by proofs, that his mistress 
did not love him. He went so far as to say to himself, 
that the hours of love she granted him were nothing but 
a mere sensual caprice such as married women feel for 
their husbands when they long for a cashmere shawl or a 
new dress, or when their lover is away, in accordance 
with the proverb that half a loaf is better than no bread. 
In short, Rodolphe could forgive his mistress everything 
except not being loved. He therefore took a supreme 
resolution, and announced to Mademoiselle Mimi that 
she would have to look out for another lover. Mimi 
began to laugh and to utter bravadoes. In the end, see- 
ing that Rodolphe was firm in his resolve, and greeted 
her with extreme calmness when she returned home after 


168 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

a day and a night spent out of the house, she began to 
grow a little uneasy in face of this firmness, to which 
she was not accustomed. She was then charming for 
two or three days. But her lover did not go back on 
what he had said, and contented himself with asking 
whether she had found anyone. 

“ I have not even looked,'’ she replied. 

However, she had looked, and even before Rodolphe 
had advised her to do so. In a fortnight she had made 
two essays. One of her friends had helped her, and had 
at first procured her the acquaintance of a very tender 
youth, who had unfolded before Mimi’s eyes a horizon 
of Indian cashmeres and suites of furniture in rosewood. 

But in the opinion of Mimi herself this young school- 
boy, who might be very good at algebra, was not very 
advanced in the art of love, and as she did not like under- 
taking education, she left her amorous novice in the lurch, 
with his cashmeres still browsing on the plains of Thibet, 
and his rosewood furniture still growing in the forests of 
the New World. 

The schoolboy was soon replaced by a Breton gentle- 
man, with whom Mirni was soon rapidly smitten, and she 
had no need to pray long before becoming his nominal 
countess. 

Despite his mistress's protestations, Rodolphe had 
wind of some intrigue. He wanted to know exactly how 
matters stood, and one morning, after a night during 
which Mademoiselle Mimi had not returned, hastened to 
the place where he suspected her to be. There he was 
able to strike home at his heart with one of those proofs 
to which one must give credence in spite of oneself. He 
saw Mademoiselle Mimi, with two eyes encircled with an 
aureola of satisfied voluptuousness, leaving the residence 
in which she had acquired her title of nobility, on the 
arm of her new lord and master, who, to tell the truth. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 169 

appeared far less proud of his new conquest than Paris 
after the rape of Helen. 

On seeing her lover appear, Mademoiselle Mimi seemed 
somewhat surprised. She came up to him and for five 
minutes they talked very quietly together. They then 
parted, each on their separate way. Their separation 
was agreed upon. 

Rodolphe returned home, and spent the day in packing 
up all the things belonging to his mistress. 

During the day that followed his divorce, he received 
the visit of several friends, and announced to them what 
had happened. Every one congratulated him on this 
event as on a piece of great good fortune. ‘ 

‘‘We will aid you, oh, poet ! said one of those who 
had been the most frequent spectator of the annoyances 
Mademoiselle Mimi had made Rodolphe undergo ; “we 
will help you to free your heart from the clutches of this 
evil creature. In a little while you will be cured, and 
quite ready to rove with another Mimi along the green 
lanes of Aulnay and Fontenay-aux-Roses.^' 

Rodolphe swore that he had forever done with regrets 
and despair. He even let himself be led away to the 
Bal Mabille, where his dilapidated get-up did scant honour 
to “ The Scarf of Iris,” his editorship of which procured 
him free admission to this garden of elegance and pleas- 
ure. There Rodolphe met some fresh friends, with whom 
he began to drink. He related to them his woes with an 
unheard of luxury of imaginative style, and for an hour 
was perfectly dazzling with liveliness and go. 

“Alas ! ” said the painter Marcel, as he listened to the 
flood of irony pouring from his friend's lips, “ Rodolphe 
is too lively, far too lively.” 

“He is charming,” replied a young woman to whom 
Rodolphe had just offered a bouquet, “and although he 
is very badly got up I would willingly compromise my- 
self by dancing with him if he would invite me.” 


170 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

Two seconds later Rodolphe, who had overheard her, 
was at her feet, enveloping his invitation in a speech, 
scented with all the musk and benjamin of a gallantry at 
eighty degrees Richelieu. The lady was confounded by 
the language sparkling with dazzling adjectives, and 
phrases modelled on those in vogue during the Regency, 
and the invitation was accepted. 

Rodolphe was as ignorant of the elements of dancing 
as of the rule of three. But he was impelled by an ex- 
traordinary audacity. He did not hesitate, but improvised 
a dance unknown to all by-gone chorography. It was a 
step the originality of which obtained an incredible suc- 
cess, and that has been celebrated under the title of “re- 
grets and sighs.” It was all very well for the three thou- 
sand jets of gas to blink at him, Rodolphe went on at it 
all the same, and continued to pour out a flood of novel 
madrigals to his partner. 

“Well,” said Marcel, “this is incredible. Rodolphe 
reminds me of a drunken man rolling amongst broken 
glass. ” 

“At any rate he has got hold of a deuced fine woman,” 
said another, seeing Rodolphe about to leave with his 
partner. 

“Won’t you say good night? ” cried Marcel after him. 

Rodolphe came back to the artist and held out his hand, 
it was cold and damp as a wet stone. 

Rodolphe’s companion was a strapping Normandy 
wench, whose native rusticity had promptly acquired an 
aristocratic tinge amidst the elegancies of Parisian lux- 
ury and an idle life. She was styled Madame Sera- 
phine, and was for the time being mistress of an incarnate 
rheumatism in the shape of a peer of France, who gave her 
fifty louis a month, which she shared with a counter- 
jumper who gave her nothing but hard knocks. Rodolphe 
had pleased her, she hoped that he would not think of 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN OUAllTER. 171 

giving her anything, and took him off home with her. 

“ Lucile,” said she to her waiting maid, “ I am not at 
home to anyone.” And passing into her bedroom, she 
came out ten minutes later, in a special costume. She 
found Rodolphe dumb and motionless, for since he had 
come in he had been plunged, despite himself, into a 
gloom full of silent sobs. 

“Why do you no longer look at me or speak to me ! ” 
said the astonished Seraphine. 

‘ ‘ Come, ” said Rodolphe to himself, lifting his head ; “let 
us look at her, but only for the sake of art. ” 

“And then what a sight met his eyes,” as Raoul says 
in “The Huguenots.” 

Seraphine was admirably beautiful. Her splendid 
figure, cleverly set-off by the cut of her solitary garment, 
showed itself provocatively through the half-transparent 
material. All the imperious fever of desire woke afresh 
in Rodolphe’s veins. A warm mist mounted to his brain. 
He looked at Seraphine otherwise than from a purely 
aesthetical point of view and took the pretty girl’s hands 
in his own. They were divine hands, and might have 
been wrought by the purest chisels of Grecian statuary. 
Rodolphe felt these admirable hands tremble in his own, 
and feeling less and less of an art critic, he drew towards 
him Seraphine, whose face was already tinged with that 
flush which is the aurora of voluptuousness. 

“This creature is a true instrument of pleasure a real 
Straduarius of love, and one on which I would willingly 
play a tune,” thought Rodolphe, as he heard the fair 
creature’s heart beating a hurried charge in very distinct 
fashion. 

At that moment there was a violent ring at the door of 
the rooms. 

“Lucile, Lucile,” cried Seraphine to the waiting maid, 
“ do not let anyone in, say I am not home yet.” 


172 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUABTER. 

At the name of Lucile uttered twice, Rodolphe rose. 

“I do not wish to incommode you in any way, 
madame, ” said he. ‘ ‘ Besides, I must take my leave ; it is 
late and I live a long way off. Good evening.'’ 

“What! you are going exclaimed Seraphine, aug- 
menting the fire of her glances. “Why, why should you 
go.^ I am free, you can stay." 

“Impossible,” replied Rodolphe, “lam expecting one 
of my relatives who is coming from Terra del Fuego this 
evening, and he would disinherit me if he did not find me 
waiting to receive him. Good evening, madame.” 

And he quitted the room hurriedly. The servant went 
to light him out. Rodolphe accidentally cast his eye on 
her. She was a delicate-looking girl, with slow move- 
ments ; her extremely pale face offered a charming con- 
trast to her dark and naturally curling hair, whilst her blue 
eyes resembled two sickly stars. 

“Oh! phantom,” exclaimed Rodolphe, shrinking from 
one who bore the name and the face of his mistress. 
“Away, what would you with me.?” And he rushed 
down the stairs. 

“ Why, madame,” said the lady’s maid, returning to her 
mistress’s room, “the young fellow is mad.” 

‘ ‘ Say rather that he is a fool, ” exclaimed the exasperated 
Seraphine. ‘‘ Oh ! ” she continued, “this will teach me 
to show kindness. If only that brute of a Leon had the 
sense to drop in now ! ” 

Leon was the gentleman whose love carried a whip. 

Rodolphe ran home without waiting to take breath. 
Going upstairs he found his carroty-haired cat giving vent 
to piteous mewings. For two nights already it had thus 
been vainly summoning its faithless love, an angora Manon 
Lescaut, who had started on a campaign of gallantry on 
the house-tops adjacent. 

“Poor beast,” said Rodolphe, “you have been deceived. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 173 

Your Mimi has jilted you like mine has jilted me. Bah ! 
let us console ourselves. You see, my poor fellow, the 
hearts of women and she-cats are abysses that neither 
men nor toms will ever fathom.” 

When he entered his room, although it was fearfully hot, 
Rodolphe seemed to feel a cloak of ice about his shoulders. 
It was the chill of solitude, that terrible nocturnal solitude 
that nothing disturbs. He lit his candle and then per- 
ceived the ravaged room. The gaping drawers in the furni- 
ture showed empty, and from floor to ceiling sadness filled 
the little room, that seemed to Rodolphe vaster than a des- 
ert. Stepping forward he struck his foot against the parcels 
containing the things belonging to Mademoiselle Mimi, 
and he felt an impulse of joy to find that she had not yet 
come to fetch them as she had told him in the morning 
she would do. Rodolphe felt that, despite all his strug- 
gles, the moment of reaction was at hand, and readily 
divined that a cruel night was to expiate all the bitter mirth 
that he had dispensed in the course of the evening. How- 
ever, he hoped that his body, worn out with fatigue, would 
sink to sleep before the re-awakening of the sorrows so 
long pent back in his heart. 

As he approached the couch, and on drawing back the 
curtains saw the bed that had not been disturbed for two 
days, the two pillows placed side by side, beneath one of 
which still peeped out the trimming of a woman's night- 
cap, Rodolphe felt his heart gripped in the pitiless vice of 
that desolate grief that cannot burst forth. He fell at the 
foot of the bed, buried his face in his hands, and, after 
having cast a glance round the desolate room, exclaimed : 

“Oh ! little Mimi, joy of my home, is it really true that 
you are gone ; that I have driven you away and that 
I shall never see you again ; My God ! Oh ! pretty brown 
curly head that has slept so long on this spot, will you 
never come back to sleep here again ? Oh ! capricious 


174 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


voice, whose caresses rendered me delirious and whose 
anger charmed me, shall I never hear you again ? Oh I 
little white hands with the blue veins, little white hands 
to whom I had affianced my lips, have you, too, received 
my last kiss ? " 

And Rodolphe, in delirious intoxication, plunged his 
head amongst the pillows, still impregnated with the per- 
fume of his love’s hair. From the depth of the alcove he 
seemed to see emerge the ghosts of the sweet nights he 
had passed with his young mistress. He heard clear and 
sonorous, amidst the nocturnal silence, the open-hearted 
laugh of Mademoiselle Mimi, and he thought of the charm- 
ing and contagious gaiety with which she had been able 
so many times to make him forget all the troubles and all 
the hardships of their hazardous existence. 

Throughout the night he kept passing in review the eight 
months that he had just spent with this girl, who had never 
loved him perhaps, but whose tender lies had restored to 
Rodolphe’s heart its first youth and virility. 

Dawn surprised him at the moment when, conquered by 
fatigue, he had just closed his eyes, red from the tears shed 
during the night. A doleful and terrible vigil, yet such a 
one as even the most sneering and sceptical amongst us 
may find in the depths of their past. 

When his friends called on him in the morning they 
were alarmed at the sight of Rodolphe, whose face bore 
the traces of all the anguish that had awaited him during 
his vigil in the Gethsemane of love. 

‘‘Good ! ” said Marcel, “I was sure of it ; it is his mirth 
of yesterday that has turned in his heart. Things must 
not go on like this.” 

And in concert with two or three comrades he began a 
series of privately indiscreet revelations respecting Made- 
moiselle Mimi, every word of which pierced like a thorn 
to Rodolphe’s heart. His friends “proved ” to him that all 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEK. 


175 

the time his mistress had tricked him like a simpleton at 
home and abroad, and that this fair creature, pale as the 
angel of phthisis, was a casket filled with evil sentiments 
and ferocious instincts. 

One and another they thus took it in turns at the task 
they had set themslves, which was to bring Rodolphe to 
that point at which soured love turns to contempt ; but 
this object was only half attained. The poet’s despair 
turned to wrath. He threw himself in a rage upon the 
packages which he had done up the day before, and after 
having put on one side all the objects that his mistress 
had in her possession when she came to him, kept all those 
he had given her during their union, that is to say, by far 
the greater number, and, above all, the articles connected 
with the toilette to which Mademoiselle Mimi was at- 
tached by all the fibres of a coquetry that had of late 
become insatiable. 

Mademoiselle Mimi called in course of the next day to 
take away her things. Rodolphe was at home and alone. 
It needed all his powers of self-esteem to keep him from 
throwing himself upon his mistress’s neck. He gave her 
a reception full of silent insult, and Mademoiselle Mimi 
replied by those cold and keen scoffs that drive the weak- 
est and most timid to show their teeth, In face of the 
contempt with which his mistress flagellated him with 
insolent hardihood, Rodolphe’s anger broke out fearfully 
and brutally. For a moment Mimi, white with terror, 
asked herself whether she would escape from his hands 
alive. At the cries she uttered some neighbours rushed 
in and dragged her out of Rodolphe’s room. 

Two days later a female friend of Mimi came to ask Ro- 
dolphe whether he would give up the things he had kept. 

‘•'No,” he replied. 

And he got his mistress’s messenger to talk about her. 
She informed him that Mimi was in a very unfortunate 


176 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTER. 


condition, and that she would soon find herself without a 
lodging. 

And the lover of whom she is so fond? 

“Oh ! replied Amelie, the friend in question, “the 
young fellow has no intention of taking her for his 
mistress. He has been keeping another for a long time 
past, and he does not seem to trouble much about Mimi, 
who is living at my expense, which causes me a great 
deal of embarrassment.” 

“Let her do as she can,” said Rodolphe ; “ she would 
have it, — it is no affair of mine.” 

And he began to sing madrigals to Mademoiselle 
Amelie, and persuaded her that she was the prettiest 
woman in the world. 

Amelie informed Mimi of her interview with Rodolphe. 

“ What did he say ? What is he doing ? Did he speak 
to you about me?” asked Mimi. 

“ Not at all ; you are already forgotten, my dear. 
Rodolphe has a fresh mistress, and has bought her a 
superb outfit, for he has received a great deal of money, 
and is himself dressed like a prince. He is a very amiable 
young fellow, and said a lot of nice things to me. ” 

“ I know what all that means,” thought Mimi. 

Everyday Mademoiselle Amalie called to see Rodolphe 
on some pretext or other, and however much the latter 
tried he could not help speaking of Mimi to her. 

“She is very lively,” replied her friend, “and does not 
seem to trouble herself about her position. Besides she 
declares that she will come back to you whenever she 
chooses, without making any advances and merely for 
the sake of vexing your friends.” 

“Very good,” said Rodolphe, “ let her come and we 
shall see.” 

And he began again to pay court to Amelie, who went 
off to tell everything to Mimi, and to assure her that 
Rodolphe was very much in love with herself. 


177 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

He kissed me again on the hand and the neck ; see it 
is quite red/' said she. ** He wants to take me to a dance 
to-morrow. " 

“ My dear friend/' said Mimi, rather vexed, “ I see what 
you are driving at, to make me believe that Rodolphe is 
in love with you and thinks no more about me. But you 
are wasting your time both with him and me." 

The fact was that Rodolphe only showed himself amiable 
towards Amelie to get her to call on him the oftener, and 
to have the opportunity of speaking to her about his 
mistress. But with a Machiavelism that had perhaps its 
object, and whilst perceiving very well that Rodolphe still 
loved Mimi, and that the latter was not indisposed to 
rejoin him, Amelie strove, by ingeniously inventive 
reports, to fend off everything that might serve to draw 
the pair together again. 

The day on which she was to go to the ball Amelie 
called in the morning to ask Rodolphe whether the 
engagement still held good. 

*‘Yes,” he replied, “ I do not want to miss the oppor- 
tunity of being the cavalier of the most beautiful woman 
of the day." 

Amalie assumed the coquettish air that she had put on 
on the occasion of her solitary appearance at a suburban 
theatre as fourth chambermaid, and promised to be ready 
that evening. 

“ By the way," said Rodolphe, “ tell Mademoiselle Mimi 
that if she will be guilty of an infidelity to her lover in my 
favour, and come and pass a night with me, I will give 
her up all her things." 

Amalie executed Rodolphe’s commission, and gave to 
his words quite another meaning than that which she had 
guessed they bore. 

‘‘Your Rodolphe is abase fellow, "said she to Mimi ; 
*^his proposal his infamous. He wishes by this step to 


178 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETER. 

make you descend to the rank of the vilest creatures, and 
if you go to him not only will he not give you your things, 
but he will show you up as a jest to all his comrades. It 
is a plot arranged amongst them. ” 

“ I will not go,” said Mimi, and as she saw Amelie 
engaged in preparing her toilette, she asked her whether 
she was going to the ball. 

“ Yes,” replied the other. 

“With Rodolphe?” 

“ Yes ; he is to wait for me this evening twenty yards 
or so from here.” 

“I wish you joy,” said Mimi, and seeing the hour of 
the appointment approach, she hurried off to Mademoi- 
selle Amelie’s lover, and informed him that the latter was 
engaged in a little scheme to deceive him with her own 
old lover. 

The gentleman, jealous as a tiger and brutal to boot 
called at once on Mademoiselle Amelie, and announced 
that he would like her to spend the evening in his com- 
pany. 

At eight o’clock Mimi flew to the spot at which Rodol- 
phe was to meet Amelie. She saw her lover pacing up 
and down after the fashion of a man waiting for some 
one, and twice passed close to him without daring to 
address him. Rodolphe was very well dressed that even- 
ing, and the violent crises through which he had passed 
during the week had imparted great character to his face. 
Mimi was singularly moved. At length she made up her 
mind to speak to him. Rodolphe received her without 
anger, and asked how she was, after which he inquired 
as to the motive that had brought her to him, in mild 
voice, in which there was an effort to check a note of 
sadness. 

“ It is bad news that I come to bring you. Mademoi- 
selle Amelie cannot come to the ball with you ; her lover 
is keeping her.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 179 

shall go to the ball alone, then.” 

Here Mademoiselle Mimi feigned to stumble, and leaned 
against Rodolphe s shoulder. He took her arm and pro- 
posed to escort her home. 

“No,” said Mimi, “I am living with Amelie, and as 
her lover is there I cannot go in till he has left.” 

“Listen to me, then,” said the poet. “I made a pro- 
posal to you to-day through Mademoiselle Amelie. Did 
she transmit it to you.? ” 

“Yes,” said Mimi, “but in terms which, even after 
what has happened, I could not credit. No, Rodolphe, 
I could not believe that, despite all that you might have 
to reproach me with, you thought me so worthless as to 
accept such a bargain.” 

“You did not understand me, or the message has been 
badly conveyed to you. My offer holds good,” said 
Rodolphe. “It is nine o’clock. You have still three 
hours for reflection. The door will be unlocked till mid- 
night. Good night. Farewell, or — till we meet again.” 

“Farewell, then,” said Mimi, in trembling tones. 

And they separated. Rodolphe went home and threw 
himself, without undressing, upon his bed. At half-past 
eleven Mademoiselle Mimi entered his room. 

“I have come to ask your hospitality,” said she; 
“ Amelie’s lover has stayed with her, and I cannot get in.” 

They talked together till three in the morning — an ex- 
explanatory conversation which grew gradually more 
familiar. 

At four o’clock their candle went out. Rodolphe want- 
ed to light another. 

“No,” said Mimi, “ it is not worth the trouble. It is 
quite time to go to bed.” 

Five minutes later her pretty brown cuily head had 
once more resumed its place on the pillow, and in a voice 
full of affection she invited Rodolphe’s lips to feast on her 
little white hands with their blue veins, the pearly pallor 


180 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

of which vied with the whiteness of the sheets. Rodolphe 
did not light the candle. 

In the morning Rodolphe got up first, and pointing out 
several packages to Mimi, said to her, very gently. 

“ There is what belongs to you ; you can take it away. 
I keep my word.'* 

“ Oh, ” said Mimi, “I am very tired, you see, and I 
cannot carry all these heavy parcels away at once. I 
would rather call again. ” 

And when she was dressed she only took a collar and 
a pair of cuffs. 

“I will take away the rest by degrees,” she added, 
smiling. 

“Come,” said Rodolphe, “take away all or takeaway 
none, but let there be an end of it. ” 

“ Let it, on the contrary, begin again, and, above all, 
let it last,” said Mimi, kissing Rodolphe. 

After breakfasting together they started off for a day in 
the country. Crossing the Luxembourg gardens Rodolphe 
met a great poet who had always received him with 
charming kindness. Out of respect for the conventional- 
ities Rodolphe was about to pretend not to see him ; but 
the poet did not give him time, and passing by him 
greeted him with a friendly gesture, and his companion 
with a smile. 

“Who is that gentleman ? ” asked Mimi. 

Rodolphe answered her by mentioning a name which 
made her blush with pleasure and pride. 

“Oh!” said Rodolphe, “our meeting with the poet 
who has sung of love so well is a good omen, and will 
bring luck to our reconciliation. ” 

“Ido love you,” said Mimi, squeezing his hand, al- 
though they were in the midst of the crowd. 

“Alas 1” thought Rodolphe ; “which is better, to 
allow oneself always to be deceived through believing, 
or never to believe for fear of being always deceived ? ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


ISl 


CHAPTER XV. 

DONEC GRATUS . . . 

We have told how the painter Marcel made the ac- 
quaintance of Mademoiselle Musette. United one morn- 
ing by the ministry of caprice, the registrar of the district, 
they had fancied, as often happens, that their union did 
not extend to their hearts ; but one evening when, after 
a violent quarrel, they resolved to leave one another on 
the spot, they perceived that their hands, which they had 
joined in a farewell clasp, would no longer quit one an- 
other. Almost in spite of themselves fancy had become 
love. Both, half laughingly, acknowledged it. 

“This is very serious ; what has happened to us.?” 
said Marcel. “What the deuce have we been up to?” 

“ Oh ! ’* replied Musette, “ we must have been clumsy 
over it ; we did not take enough precautions.” 

“What is the matter? ” asked Rodolphe, who had be- 
come Marcel’s neighbour, entering the room. 

“The matter is,” replied Marcel, “that this lady and 
myself have just made a pretty discovery. We are in 
love with one another. We must have been attacked by 
the complaint whilst asleep.” 

“Oh ! oh I I don’t think that it was whilst you were 
asleep, ” observed Rodolphe. ‘ ‘ But what proves that you 
are in love with one another ? Possibly you exaggerate 
the danger. ” 

“We cannot bear one another,” said Marcel. 

“ And we cannot leave one another,” added Musette. 

“There, my children, your business is plain. Each 


182 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

has tried to play cunning, and both have lost. It is the 
story of Mimi and myself. We shall soon have run 
through two almanacs quarrelling day and night. It is by 
that system that marriages are rendered eternal. Wed a 
‘yes' to a ‘no,’ and you obtain the union of Philemon 
and Baucis. Your domestic interior will soon match 
mine ; and if Schaunard and Phemie come and live in the 
house, as they have threatened, our trio of establishments 
will render it a very pleasant place of residence.” 

At that moment Gustave Colline came in. He was in- 
formed of the accident that had befallen Musette and 
Marcel. 

“Well, philosopher,” said the latter, “what do you 
think of this? ” 

Colline rubbed the hat that served him for a roof, and 
murmured. 

“I felt sure of it beforehand. Love is a game of 
chance. He who plays at bowls may expect rubbers. 
It is not good for man to live alone.” 

That evening, on returning home, Rodolphe said to 
Mimi — 

“ There is something new ; Musette doats on Marcel, 
and will not leave him.” 

“Poor girl I” replied Mimi. “She who has such a 
good appetite, too.” 

“And on his side, Marcel is hard and fast in love with 
Musette.” 

“Poor fellow ! ” said Mimi ; “he who is so jealous.” 

“That is true,” observed Rodolphe; “he and I are 
pupils of Othello. ” 

Shortly afterwards the households of Rodolphe and 
Marcel were reinforced by the household of Schaunard, 
the musician moving into the house with Phemie Tein- 
turiere. 

From that day all the other inhabitants slept upon a 


thp: bohemians of the latin quarter. 1S3 

volcano, and at quarter day sent in a unanimous notice 
of their intention to move to the landlord. 

Indeed, hardly a day passed without a storm breaking 
out in one of these households. Now it was Mimi and 
Rodolphe who, no longer having strength to speak, con- 
tinued their conversation with the aid of such missiles as 
came under their hands. But more frequently it was 
Schaunard addressing a few observations to the melan- 
choly Phemie with the end of a walking-stick. As to 
Marcel and Musette, their arguments were carried on in 
private sittings ; they took at least the precaution to 
close their doors and windows. 

If by chance peace reigned in the three households, the 
other lodgers were not the less victims of this temporary 
concord. The indiscretion of partition walls allowed all 
the secrets of Bohemian family life to transpire, and 
initiated them, in spite of themselves, into all its mys- 
teries. Thus more than one neighbour preferred the Casus 
belli to the ratifications of treaties of peace. 

It was, in truth, a singular life that was led for six 
months. The most loyal fraternity was practised without 
any fuss in this circle, in which everything was for all, 
and good or evil fortune shared. 

There were in the month certain days of splendour, 
when no one would have gone out without gloves — days 
of enjoyment, when dinner lasted all day long. There 
were others when one would have almost gone to Court 
without boots ; Lenten days, when, after going without 
breakfast in common, they failed to dine together, or 
managed by economic combination to furnish forth one 
of those repasts at which plates and knives and forks were 
“resting,” as Mademoiselle Mimi put it, in theatrical 
parlance. 

But the wonderful thing is that in this partnership, in 
which there were three young and pretty women, no 


184 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

shadow of discord was found amongst the men ; they 
often yielded to the most futile fancies of their mistresses, 
but not one of them would have hesitated for a moment 
between the mistress and the friend. 

Love is born above all from spontaniety — it is an im- 
provisation. Friendship, on the contrary, is, so to say, 
built up ; it is a sentiment that progresses with circum- 
spection ; it is the egoism of the mind, whilst love is the 
egoism of the heart. 

The Bohemians had known one another for six years. 
This long period of time spent in a daily intimacy had, 
without altering the well-defined individuality of each, 
brought about between them a concord of ideas — a unity 
which they would not have formed elsewhere. They 
had manners that were their own, a tongue amongst 
themselves to which strangers would not have been able 
to find the key. Those who did not know them very 
well called their freedom of manner cynicism. It was, 
however, only frankness. With minds impatient of im- 
posed control, they all hated what was false, and de- 
spised what was low. Accused of exaggerated vanity, 
they replied by proudly unfurling the programme of their 
ambition, and, conscious of their worth, held no false 
estimate of themselves. 

During the number of years that they had followed the 
same life together, though often placed in rivalry by the 
necessities of their profession, they had never let go one 
another’s hands, and had passed without heeding them 
over personal questions of self-esteem whenever an at- 
tempt had been made to raise these between them in 
order to disunite them. Besides, they each esteemed one 
another at their right worth, and pride, which is the 
counter-poison of envy, preserved them from all petty 
professional jealousy. 

However, after six months of life in common, an epi- 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 185 

demic of divorce suddenly seized on the various house- 
holds. 

Schaunard opened the ball. One day he perceived 
that Phemie Teinturiere had one knee better shaped than 
the other, and as his was an austere purism as regards 
plastics, he sent Phemie about her business, giving her 
as a souvenir the cane with which he had addressed such 
frequent remarks to her. Then he went back to live with 
a relative who offered him free quarters. 

A fortnight later Mimi left Rodolphe to step into the 
carriage of the young Vicomte Paul, the ex-pupil of Carolus 
Barbemuche, who had promised her dresses to her heart s 
desire. 

After Mimi it was Musette who went off, and returned 
with a grand flourish of trumpets amongst the aristocracy 
of the world of gallantry which she had left to follow 
Marcel. 

This separation took place without quarrel, shock, or 
premeditation. Born of a fancy that had become love, 
this union was broken off by another fancy. 

One evening during the carnival, at the masked ball 
at the Opera, whither she had gone with Marcel, Musette 
had for her vis-d-vis in a quadrille a young man who had 
formerly courted her. They recognized one another, 
and, whilst dancing, exchanged a few words. Uninten- 
tionally, perhaps, whilst informing the young fellow of 
her present condition in life, she may have dropped a 
word of regret as to her past one. At any rate, at the end 
of the quadrille Musette made a mistake, and instead of 
giving her hand to Marcel, who was her partner, gave it 
to her vis-a-visj who led her off, and disappeared with her 
in the crowd. 

Marcel looked for her, feeling somewhat uneasy. In 
an hour’s time he found her on the young man’s arm ; 
she was coming out of the Cafe de I’Opera, humming 


186 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

a tune. On catching sight of Marcel, who had stationed 
himself in a corner with folded arms, she made him a 
sign of farewell, saying — “ I shall be back.” 

“That is to say, ‘Do not expect me,’” translated 
Marcel. 

He was jealous but logical, and knew Musette, hence 
he did not wait for her, but went home with a full heart 
and an empty stomach. He looked into a cupboard to 
see whether there were not a few scraps to eat, and per- 
ceived a bit of stale bread as hard as granite and a 
skeleton-like red herring. 

“ I cannot fight against truffles,” he thought. “ At any 
rate. Musette will have some supper. ” 

And after passing his handkerchief over his eyes under 
pretext of wiping his nose, he went to bed. 

Two days later Musette woke up in a boudoir with rose- 
covered hangings. A blue brougham was at her door, 
and all the fairies of fashion had been summoned to lay 
their wonders at her feet. Musette was charming, and 
her youth seemed yet further rejuvenated in this elegant 
setting. Then she began her old life again, was present at 
every festivity, and re-conquered her celebrity. She was 
spoken of everywhere — in the lobbies of the Bourse, and 
even at the parliamentary refreshment bars. As to her new 
lover. Monsieur Alexis, he was a charming young fellow. 
He often complained to Musette of her being somewhat 
frivolous and inattentive when he spoke to her of his love. 
'Fhen Musette would look at him laughingly, and say : — 

“ What would you have, my dear fellow ? I stayed six 
months with a man who fed me on salad and soup with- 
out butter, who dressed me in a cotton gown, and usually 
took me to the Odeon because he was not well off. As 
love costs nothing, and as I was wildly in love with this 
monster, we expended a great deal of it together. I have 
scarcely anything but its crumbs left. Pick them up, I 


Where are you going?” aeked Marcel. 



$ 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 187 

do not hinder you. Besides, I have not deceived you 
about it ; if ribbons were not so dear I should still be with 
my painter. As to my heart, since I have worn an eighty- 
franc corset I do not hear it, and I am very much afraid 
that I have left it in one of Marcel’s drawers. ” 

The disappearance of the three Bohemian households 
was the occasion of a festival in the house they had in- 
habited. As a token of rejoicing the landlord gave a 
grand dinner, and the lodgers lit up their windows. 

Rodolphe and Marcel went to live together ; each had 
taken a new idol w'hose name they were not exactly ac- 
quainted with. Sometimes it happened that one spoke of 
Musette and the other of Mimi, and then they had a whole 
evening of it. They recalled to one another their old 
life, the songs of Musette and the songs of Mimi, nights 
passed without sleep, idle mornings, and dinners only 
partaken of in dreams. One by one they hummed ov^er in 
these recollective duets all the bygone hours, and they 
usually wound up by saying that after all they were still 
happy to find themselves together, their feet on the fen- 
der, stirring the December log, smoking their pipes, and 
having as a pretext for open conversation between them 
that which they whispered to themselves when alone — 
that they had dearly loved these beings who had vanished, 
bearing away with them a part of their youth, and that per- 
haps they loved them still. 

One evening when passing along the Boulevard, Mar- 
cel perceived a few paces ahead of him a young lady who, 
in alighting from a cab, exposed the lower part of a white 
stocking of admirable shape. The very driver himself 
devoured with his eyes this charming gratification in ex- 
cess of his fare. 

“ By Jove,” said Marcel, “ that is a neat leg, I should 
like to offer it my arm. Come, now, how shall I manage 
to accost it ? Ha ! I have it — it is a fairly novel plan. 


188 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

Excuse me, madame,” continued he, approaching the fail 
unknown, whose face at the outset he could not at first 
get full view’’ of, “ but you have not by chance found my 
handkerchief? " 

“ Yes, sir," replied the young lady, “ here it is." And 
she placed in Marcel’s hand a handkerchief she had been 
holding in her own. 

The artist rolled into an abyss of astonishment 

But all at once a burst of laughter full in his face re- 
called him to himself. By this joyous outbreak he recog' 
nized his old love. 

It was Mademoiselle Musette. 

“ Ah ! " she exclaimed, Monsieur Marcel in quest of 
gallant adventures. What do you think of this one, eh ? 
It does not lack fun." 

‘‘I think it endurable," replied Marcel. 

“Where are you going so late in this region? ” asked 
Musette. 

“ I am going into that edifice,” said the artist, pointing 
to a little theatre where he w^as on the free list. 

“ For the sake of art ? " 

“ No, for the sake of Laura-" 

“Who is Laura ?" continued Musette, whose eyes shot 
forth notes of interrogation. 

Marcel kept up the joke. 

“She is a chimera whom I am pursuing, and who plays 
here." 

And he pretended to pull out an imaginary shirt frill. 

“You are very witty this evening," said Musette. 

“And you very curious," observed Marcel. 

“Do not speak so loud, everyone can hear us, and they 
will take us for two lovers quarrelling." 

“It would not be the first time that that happened,” 
said Marcel. 

Musette read a challenge in this sentence, and quickly 
replied, * ‘ And it will not perhaps be the last, eh ? " 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 189 

Her words were plain, they whizzed past Marcel's ear 
like a bullet. 

‘ ‘ Splendours of heaven," said he, looking up at the stars, 
“you are witnesses that it is not I who opened fire. 
Quick, my armour." 

From that moment firing began. 

It was now only a question of finding some appropriate 
pretext to bring about an agreement between these two 
fancies that had just woke up again so lively. 

As they walked along Musette kept looking at Marcel, 
and Marcel kept looking at Musette. They did not speak, 
but their eyes, those plenipotentiaries of the heart, often 
met. After a quarter of an hour's diplomacy this congress 
of glances had tacitly settled the matter. There was 
nothing to be done save to ratify it. 

The interrupted conversation was renewed. 

“Candidly, now,” said Musette to Marcel, “where 
were you going just now?" 

“I told you, to see Laura.'/ 

“Is she pretty?" 

“ Her mouth is a nest of smiles.” 

“Oh ! I know all that sort of thing.” 

“But you yourself,” said Marcel ; “whence came you 
on the wings of this four-wheeler ? ” 

“I came back from the railway station where I had 
been to see off Alexis, who is going on a visit to his 
family. " 

“What sort of a man is Alexis ? " 

In turn Musette sketched a charming portrait of her 
present lover. Whilst walking along Marcel and Musette 
continued thus on the open Boulevard the comedy of re- 
awakening love. With the same simplicity, in turn 
tender and jesting, they went verse by verse through that 
immortal ode in which Horace and Lydia extol with such 
grace the charms of their new loves, and end by adding a 


190 THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. 

postscript to their old ones. As they reached the corner 
of a street a rather strong picket of soldiers suddenly 
issued from it. 

Musette struck an attitude of alarm, and clutching hold 
of Marcel's arm, said, “Ah! good heavens! look there, 
soldiers ; there is going to be another revolution. Let us 
bolt off, I am awfully afraid ; see me indoors. ” 

“ But where shall we go !” asked Marcel. 

“To my place," said Musette; “you shall see how 
nice it is. I invite you to supper ; we will talk politics. " 

“No," replied Marcel, who thought of Monsieur Alexis, 
“ I will not go to your place, despite your offer of a 
supper. I do not like to drink my wine out of another's 
glass. " 

Musette w’as silent in face of this refusal. Then through 
the mist of her recollections she saw the poor home of the 
artist, for Marcel had not become a millionaire. She had 
an idea, and profiting by meeting another picket she 
manifested fresh alarm. 

“They are going to fight," she exclaimed; “I shall 
never dare go home. Marcel, my dear fellow, take me 
to one of my lady friends, who must be living in your 
neighbourhood. " 

As they were crossing the Pont Neuf, Musette broke into 
a laugh. 

“What is it ? " asked Marcel. 

“ Nothing," replied Musette, “only I remember that 
my friend has moved ; she is living at Batignolles." 

On seeing Marcel and Musette arrive arm in arm 
Rodolphe was not astonished. 

“ It is always so," said he, “with these badly buried 
loves." 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEB. 


19J 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE PASSAGE OF THE RED SEA. 

For five or six years Marcel had worked at the famous 
painting which (he said) represented the Passage of the 
Red Sea ; and for five or six years, this masterpiece of 
color had been obstinately refused by the jury. In fact, 
by dint of going and returning so many times from the 
artist’s study to the Exhibition, and from the Exhibition to 
his study, the picture knew the road to the Louvre well 
enough to have gone thither of itself, if it had been put on 
wheels. Marcel, who had repainted the canvas ten times 
over, from top to bottom, attributed to personal hostility 
on the part of the jury the ostracism which annually re- 
pulsed him from the large saloon ; nevertheless, he was 
not totally discouraged by the obstinate rejection which 
greeted him at every Exhibition. He was comfortably 
established in the persuasion that his picture was, on a 
somewhat smaller scale, the pendant required by “The 
Marriage of Cana,” that gigantic masterpiece whose 
astonishing brilliancy the dust of three centuries has not 
been able to tarnish. Accordingly, every year at the 
epoch of the Exhibition, Marcel sent his great work to the 
jury of examiners ; only, to deceive them, he would change 
some details of his picture, and the title of it, without 
disturbing the general composition. 

Thus, it came before the jury once, under the name of 
“ The Passage of the Rubicon ; ” but Pharaoh, badly dis- 
guised under the mantle of Caesar, was recognized and re- 
jected with all the honours due him. Next year, Marcel 


192 the bohemians OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

threw a coat of white over the foreground, to imitate snow, 
planted a fir-tree in one corner, and dressing an Egyptian 
like a grenadier of the Imperial Guard, christened his pic- 
ture, “ The Passage of the Beresina/’ 

But the jury had wiped its glasses that day, and were 
not to be duped by this new stratagem. It recognized 
the pertinacious picture by a thundering big piebald horse 
that was prancing on top of a wave of the Red Sea. The 
skin of this horse served Marcel for all his experiments in 
colouring ; he used to call it, familiarly, his ‘ ‘ synoptic table 
of fine tones, "because it reproduced the most varied com- 
binations of color, with the different plays of light and 
shade. Once again, however, the jury could not find 
black balls enough to refuse “The Passage of the 
Beresina. " 

“Very well," said Marcel, “I thought so ! Next year, I 
shall send it under the title of ‘ The Passage of the Pano- 
ramas. ' ” 

“They’re going to be jollily caught — caught ! ” 

sang Schaunard to a new air of his own composition ; a 
terrible air, like a gamut of thunder-claps, the acccompan- 
iment whereof was a terror to all pianos within hearing. 

“ How can they refuse it, without all the vermilion of 
my Red Sea mounting to their cheeks, and covering them 
with the blush of shame.?" ejaculated the artist,, as he 
gazed on his picture. ‘ ‘ When I think that there is five 
hundred francs" worth of colour there, and at least a mil- 
lion of genius, without counting my lovely youth, now 
as bald as my old hat ! But they shan’t get the better of 
me ! Till my dying day, I will send them my picture. 
It shall be engraved on their memories. " 

“The surest way of ever having it engraved," said Col- 
line, in a plaintive tone, and then added to himself, “Very 
neat, that ; I shall repeat it in society I " 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEB. 193 

Marcel continued his imprecations, which Schaunard 
continued to put to music. 

“Ah, they won’t admit me! The government pays 
them, lodges them, and gives them decorations, on pur- 
pose to refuse me once a year ; every first of March ! I 
see their idea ! 1 see it clearly 1 They want to make me 

burn my brushes. They hope that when my Red Sea is 
refused, I will throw myself out the window of despair. 
But they little know the heart of man, if they think to 
take me thus. I will not wait for the opening of the Ex- 
hibition. From to-day, my work shall be a picture of 
Damocles, eternally suspended over their existence. I will 
send it once a week to each of them, at his home in the 
bosom of his family ; in the very heart of his private life. 
It shall trouble their domestic joys ; they shall find their 
roasts burnt, their wines sour, and their wives bitter I 
They will grow mad rapidly, and go to the Institute in 
strait- waistcoats. Ha ! ha I the thought consoles me.” 

Some days after, when Marcel had already forgotten his 
terrible plans of vengeance against his persecutors, he 
received a visit from Father Medicis. So the club called a 
Jew, named Salomon, who at that time was well known 
to all the vagabond-dom of art and literature, and had 
continual transactions with them. Father Medicis traded 
in all sorts of trumpery. He sold complete sets of fur- 
niture from twelve francs up to five thousand ; he bought 
everything, and knew how to dispose of it again, at a 
profit. Proudhon’s bank of exchange was nothing in 
comparison with the system practised by Medicis, who 
possessed the genius of traffic to a degree at which the 
ablest of his religion had never before arrived. His shop 
was a fairy region where you found anything you wished 
for. Every product of nature, every creation of art ; 
whatever issues from the bowels of the earth or the head 
of man, was an object of commerce for him. His business 


194 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAHTEK. 

included everything; literally everything that exists ; he 
even trafficked in the ideal. He bought ideas to sell or 
speculate in them. Known to all literary men and all 
artists, intimate with the palette and familiar with the 
desk, he was the very Asmodeus of the arts. He would 
sell you cigars for a column of your newspaper, slippers 
for a sonnet, fresh fish for paradoxes ; he would talk, for so 
much an hour, with the people who furnished fashionable 
gossip to the journals. He would procure you places for 
the debates in the Chambers, and invitations to parties. 
He lodged wandering artistlings by the day, week or 
month, taking for pay, copies of the pictures in the 
Louvre. The green -room had no mysteries for him. He 
would get your pieces into the theatre, or yourself into 
the boudoir of an actress. He had a copy of the “ Al- 
manac of Twenty-five thousand Addresses ” in his head, and 
knew the names, residences, and secrets of all celebrities, 
even those who were not celebrated. 

A few pages copied from his waste-hook, will give a 
better idea of the universality of his operations than the 
most copious explanation could. 

March 20, 184 — . 

“ Sold to M. L , antiquary, the compass which 

Archimedes used at the siege of Syracuse. 75 fr. 

“ Bought of M. V , journalist, the entire works, 

uncut, of M. X , Member of the Academy. 10 fr. 

“Sold to the same, a criticism of the complete works 
of ]M. X , of the Academy. 30 fr. 

“Bought of M. R , literary man, a critical article 

on the complete works of M. Y , of the Academy. 

10 fr., plus half a cwt. of charcoal and 4 lbs. of coffee. 

“ Sold to M. Y , of the Academy, a laudatory 

review (twelve columns) of his complete works. 250 fr. 

“Sold to M. G , a porcelain vase which had be- 

longed to Madame Dubarry. 18 fr. 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. ] 95 

** Bought of little D , her hair. 15 fr. 

“ Bought of M. B , a lot of articles on Society, and 

the last three mistakes in spelling made by the Prefect of 
the Seine. 6 frs., p/us a pair of Naples shoes. 

“ Sold to Mdlle. O , a flaxen head of hair. 120 frs. 

“Bought of M. M , historical painter, a series of 

humorous designs. 25 trs. 

“ Informed M. Ferdinand the time when Mme. la 

Baronne De T goes to mass, and let to him for the 

day the little room in the Faubourg Montmartre : to- 
gether 30 frs. 

“ Bought of M. J , artist, a portrait of M. Isidore as 

Apollo. 6 fr. 

“ Sold to Mdlle. R a pair of lobsters and six pairs 

of gloves. 36 fr. Received 3 fr. 

“ For the same, procured a credit of six months with 
Mme. Z , dressmaker. (Price not settled.) 

“Procured for Mme Z , dressmaker, the custom of 

Mdlle. R . Received for this three yards of velvet, 

and three yards of lace. 

‘ ‘ Bought of M. R , literary man, a claim of 1 20 fr. 

against the newspaper. 5 fr. , p/us 2 lbs. of tobacco. 

“Sold M. Ferdinand two love-letters. 12 fr. 

“ Sold M. Isidore his portrait as Apollo. 30 fr. 

“ Bought of M. M , a cwt. and a half of his work, 

entitled, ^Submarine Revolutions.’ 15 fr. 

“ Lent Mme. la Comtesse de G a service of Dres- 

den china. 20 fr. 

“ Bought of M. G , journalist, fifty-two lines in his 

article of town talk. 100 fr., p/us a set of chimney-orna- 
ments. 

“Sold to Messrs. O and Co., fifty-two lines in the 

town talk of the . 300 fr., p/us two sets of chimney- 

ornaments. 

“ Let to Mdlle. S. G 


a bed and a brougham for 


19 G 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


the day (nothing). See MdlJe. S. G ’s account in 

private ledger, folios 26 and 27. 

“ Bought of M. Gustave C a treatise on the flax 

and linen trade. 50 fr., and a rare edition of Josephus. 

“ Sold Mdlle. S. G a complete set of new furniture. 

5,000 fr. 

“ For the same, paid an apothecary’s bill. 75 fr. 

“ do. do. a milkman’s do. 3 fr. 85 c.” 

These quotations show what an extensive range the 
operations of the Jew Medicis covered. It may be 
added, that although some articles of his commerce were 
decidedly illicit, he had never got himself into any trouble. 

The Jew comprehended, on his entrance, that he had 
come at a favourable time. In fact, the four friends were 
at that moment in council, under the auspices of a fero- 
cious appetite, discussing the grave question of meat and 

drink. It was a Sunday at the end of the month 

sinister day. 

The arrival of Medicis was therefore hailed by a joyous 
chorus, for they knew that he was too saving of his time 
to spend it in visits of polite ceremony ; his presence an- 
nounced business. 

“ Good evening, gentlemen ! said the Jew. “ How 
are you all ? ” 

“ Colline ! ” said Rodolphe, who was studying the 
horizontal line at full length on his bed, “do the hospi- 
table. Give our guest a chair : a guest is sacred. I salute 
Abraham in you,” added he. 

Colline took an arm-chair about as soft as iron, and 
shoved it towards the Jew, saying : 

“Suppose, for once, you were Cinna, (you are a great 
sinner, you know,) and take this seat.” 

“ Oh ! oh ! oh ! ” shouted the others, looking at the 
floor to see if it would not open and swallow up the 
philosopher. Meanwhile the Jew let himself fall into the 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. 197 

arm-chair, and was just going to cry out at its hardness, 
when he remembered that it was one which he himself 
had sold Colline for a deputy’s speech. As the Jew sat 
down, his pockets reechoed with a silvery sound ; melo- 
dious symphony, which threw the four friends into a 
reverie of delight. 

“ The accompaniment seems pretty,” said Rodolphe 
aside to Marcel ; “now for the air ! ” 

“ Monsieur Marcel,” said Medicis, “ I have merely 
come to make your fortune ; that is to say, I offer you a 
superb opportunity of making your entry into the artistic 
world. Art, you know, is a barren route, of which glory 
is the oasis.” 

“ Father Medicis,” cried Marcel, on the tenter-hooks of 
impatience, “in the name of your revered patron, St. 
Fifty-per-cent., be brief ! ” 

“ Here it is,” continued Medicis ; “a rich amateur, 
who is collecting a gallery destined to make the tour of 
Europe, has charged me to procure him a series of remark- 
able works. I come to offer you admission into this 
museum — in a word, to buy your * Passage of the Red 
Sea.'” 

“Money down?” asked Marcel. 

“ Specie,” replied the Jew, making the orchestra of his 
pockets strike up. 

“ Do you accept the specious offer?” asked Colline. 

“Of course I do ! ” shouted Rodolphe, “don't you see, 
you wretch, that he is talking of ‘ tin ' ? Is there nothing 
sacred for you, atheist that you are ? ” 

Colline mounted on a table and assumed the attitude 
of Harpocrates, the God of Silence. 

“ Push on, Medicis ! ” said Marcel, exhibiting his 
picture: “I wish to leave you the honour of fixing the 
price of this work, which is above all price. ” 

The Jew placed on the table a hundred and fifty francs 
in new coin. 


198 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“Well, what more?’’ said Marcel; “that’s only the 
prologue.” 

“ Monsieur Marcel,” replied the Jew, “ you know that 
my first offer is my last. I shall add nothing. Reflect : 
a hundred and fifty francs ; that is a sum, it is ! ” 

“A very small sum,” said the artist ; “there is that 
much worth of cobalt in my Pharaoh’s robe. Make it a 
round sum, at any rate ! Square it off ; say two hundred ! ” 

“ I won’t add a sou!” said Medicis ; “ but I stand 
dinner for the company ; wine to any extent.” 

“ Going I going 1 going 1 ” shouted Colline, with three 
blows of his fist on the table, “ no one speaks? — gone ! ” 

“Well, it’s a bargain ! ” said Marcel. 

“ I will send for the picture to-morrow,” said the Jew ; 
“and now, gentlemen, to dinner !” 

The four friends descended the staircase, singing the 
chorus of “ The Huguenots ” — “ A table, d table!'' 

Medicis treated the Bohemians in a really magnificent 
way, and gave them their choice of a number of dishes, 
which until then were completely unknown to them. 
Henceforward hot lobsters ceased to be a myth with 
Schaiinard, who contracted a passion for it that bordered 
on delirium. The four friends departed from the gorgeous 
banquet as drunk as a vintage day. Marcel’s intoxication 
was near having the most deplorable consequences. In 
passing by his tailor’s at two in the morning, he abso- 
lutely wanted to wake up his creditor, and pay him the 
hundred and fifty francs on account. A ray of reason 
which flashed across the mind of Colline, stopped the 
artist on the border of this precipice. 

A week after, Marcel discovered in what gallery his 
picture had been placed. While passing through the 
Faubourg St. Honore, he stopped in the midst of a group 
which seemed to regard with curiosity a sign that was 
being put up over a shop-door. This sign was neither more 



Marcel’s painting in the Faubourg St. Honore. 


v*'n' 






#/»^_~ ^ *•< 
1ir^ - ■> 

■-’^i>^ ■ ■ • ■ ' 

^m 1 - ^ 

,V ■'•■■' 

it- v'i-';5v----V ' 

r;\f/ ' V 
" javj 


‘‘F'j •'■<; ■«** r«-'- ^ ^ «' Ki '' ■ ' '• ^ 

.I-"’- ,'*? •■ ■ WrV-i .*•;■ . >” ■•' <■-.«.' 

>- ■. C * /•' ' V. ■ *» - MIH 

^ . W 4 > ‘ 

K .i' r- ■ . - . . ar ■ • - 


'ik' 

• ^ ■ ’ < ■ ^ ■ i * 





THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 199 

nor less than Marcel’s picture, which Medicis had sold to 
a grocer ; only, “the Passage of the Red Sea” had under- 
gone one more alteration, and been given one more new 
name. It had received the addition of a steamboat, and 
was called “ the Harbour of Marseilles.” The curious by- 
standers were bestowing on it a flattering ovation. Marcel 
returned home in ecstasy at his triumph, muttering to him- 
self, Vox populi, vox Dei, 


200 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEK. 


CHAPTER XVIL 

THE TOILETTE OF THE GRACES. 

Mademoiselle Mimi, who was accustomed to sleep far 
into the day, woke up one morning at ten o'clock, and was 
greatly surprised not to find Rodolphe beside her, nor even 
in the room. The preceding night, before falling to sleep, 
she had, however, seen him at his desk, preparing to 
spend the night over a piece of literary work which had 
been ordered of him, and in the completion of which Mimi 
was especially interested. In fact, the poet had given his 
companion hopes that out of the fruit of his labours he 
would purchase a certain summer gown, that she had 
noticed one day at the “ Deux Magots,” a famous drapery 
establishment, to the window of which Mi mi's coquetry 
used very frequently to pay its devotions. Hence, ever 
since the work in question had been begun, Mimi had been 
greatly interested in its progress. She would often come 
up to Rodolphe whilst he was writing, and leaning her 
head on his shoulder would say to him in serious tones — 

“Well, is my dress getting on ? " 

“There is already enough for a sleeve, so be easy,” 
replied Rodolphe. 

One night having heard Rodolphe snap his fingers, 
which usually meant that he was satisfied with his work, 
Mimi suddenly sat up in bed and passing her head through 
the curtains said, 

“ Is my dress finished ? ” 

“There,” replied Rodolphe, showing her four large sheets 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 201 

of paper, covered with closely- written lines, “ I have just 
finished the body.” 

“ How nice,” said Mimi ; “ then there is only the skirt 
now left to do. How many pages like that are wanted 
for the skirt ? ” 

“That depends ; but as you are not tall, with ten pages 
of fifty lines each, and eight words to the line, we can get 
a decent skirt.” 

“I am not very tall, it is true,” said Mimi, seriously; 
“ but it must not look as if we had skimped the stuff. 
Dresses are worn full, and I should like nice large folds 
so that it may rustle as I walk.” 

“Very good,” replied Rodolphe, seriously. “I will 
squeeze another word in each line and we shall manage 
the rustling.” 

Mimi fell asleep again quite satisfied. 

As she had been guilty of the imprudence of speaking 
of the nice dress that Rodolphe was engaged in making 
for her to Mesdemoiselles Musette and Phemie, these two 
young persons had not failed to inform Messieurs Marcel 
and Schaunard of their friend’s generosity towards his 
mistress, and these confidences had been followed by un- 
equivocal challenges to follow the example set by the 
poet. 

“ That is to say,” added Mademoiselle Musette, pulling 
Marcel’s mustache, “that if things go on like this a week 
longer I shall be obliged to borrow a pair of your trousers 
to go out in.” 

“ I am owed eleven francs by a good house,” replied 
Marcel; “if I get it in I will devote it to buying you a 
fashionable fig-leaf.” 

“And I,” said Phemie to Schaunard, “my gown is in 
ribbons.” 

Schaunard took three sous from his pocket and gave 
them to his mistress, saying. 


202 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“ Here is enough to buy a needle and thread with. 
Mend your gown, that will instruct and amuse you at the 
same time, utile dulci." 

Nevertheless, in a council kept very secret, Marcel and 
Schaunard agreed with Rodolphe that each of them should 
endeavour to satisfy the justifiable coquetry of their mis- 
tresses. 

“These poor girls,” said Rodolphe, “ a trifle suffices to 
adorn them, but then they must have this trifle. Latterly 
fine arts and literature have been flourishing ; we are earn- 
ing almost as much as street porters.” 

“It is true that I ought not to complain,” broke in 
Marcel. “The fine arts are in a most healthy condition, 
one might believe oneself under the sway of Leo the 
Tenth.” 

“In point of fact,” said Rodolphe, “Musette tells me 
that for the last week you have started off every morning 
and do not get home till about eight in the evening. Have 
you really got something to do ? ” 

“My dear fellow, a superb job that Medicisgot me. I 
am painting at theAve Maria barracks. Eight grenadiers 
have ordered their portraits at si.K francs a head taken all 
round, likenesses guaranteed for a year, like a watch. I 
hope to get the whole regiment. I had the idea, on my 
own part, of decking out Musette when Medicis pays me, 
for it is with him I do business and not with my models.” 

“ As to me, ” observed Schaunard, carelessly, ‘ ‘ although 
it may not look like it, I have two hundred francs lying 
idle. ” 

“ The deuce, let us stir them up,” said Rodolphe. 

“In two or three days I count on drawing them, ” re- 
plied Schaunard. “ I do not conceal from you that on do- 
ing so I intend to give a free rein to some of my passions. 
There is, above all, at the second-hand clothes shop close 
by, a nankeen jacket and a hunting horn, that have for a 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 203 

long time caught my eye. I shall certainly present my- 
self with them.” 

“ But,” added Marcel and Rodolphe together, “where 
do you hope to draw this amount of capital from? ” 

“ Hearken, gentlemen,” said Schaunard, putting on a 
serious air, and sitting down between his two friends, 
“ we must not hide from one another that before becom- 
ing members of the Institute and ratepayers, we have still 
a great deal of rye-bread to eat, and that daily bread is 
hard to get. On the other hand, we are not alone ; as 
heaven has created us sensitive to love, each of us has 
chosen another to share his lot. ” 

“ Which is little,” interrupted Marcel. 

“ But,” continued Schaunard, “whilst living with the 
strictest economy, it is difficult when one has nothing to 
put anything on one side, above all if one’s appetite is 
always larger than one’s plate.” 

“What are you driving at ? ” asked Rodolphe. 

“This,” resumed Schaunard, “that in our present 
situation we should all be wrong to play the haughty 
when a chance offers itself, even outside our art, of put- 
ting a figure in front of the cypher that constitutes our 
capital.” 

“Well ! ” said Marcel, “ which of us can you reproach 
with playing the haughty. Great painter as I shall be 
some day, have I not consented to devote my brush to 
the pictorial reproduction of French soldiers, who pay me 
out of their scanty pocket-money? It seems to me that I 
am not afraid to descend the ladder of my future great- 
ness.” 

“And I,” said Rodolphe, ‘‘do not you know that for 
the past fortnight I have been writing a medico-chirurgical 
epic for a celebrated dentist, who has hired my inspira- 
tion at fifteen sous the dozen lines, about half the price of 
oysters? However, I do not blush ; rather than let my 


204 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETER. 

muse remain idle, I would willingly put a railway-guide 
into verse. When one has a lyre it is meant to be made 
use of. And then Mimi has a burning thirst for boots.” 

“ Then,” said Schaunard, “you will not be offended 
with me when you know the source of that Pactolus, the 
overflowing of which I am awaiting. ” 

The following is the history of Schaunard’s two hun- 
dred francs : — 

About a fortnight before he had gone into the shop of 
a music-publisher who had promised to procure him 
amongst his customers pupils for pianoforte lessons or 
pianofortes to tune. 

“ By Jove ! ” said the publisher, on seeing him enter the 
shop, “ you are just in time. A gentleman has been here 
who wants a pianist ; he is an Englishman, and will 
probably pay well. Are you really a good one ? ” 

Schaunard reflected that a modest air might injure him 
in the publisher’s estimation. Indeed, a modest mu- 
sician, and especially a modest pianist, is a rare creature. 
Accordingly he replied boldly : 

“ I am a first-rate one ; if I only had a lung gone, long 
hair, and a black coat, I should be famous as the sun in 
the heavens ; and instead of asking me eight hundred 
francs to engrave my composition ‘The Death of the 
Damsel,’ you would come on your knees to offer me three 
thousand for it on a silver plate.” 

The person whose address Schaunard took was an Eng- 
lishman named Birne. * The musician was first received 
by a servant in blue, who handed him over to a servant 
in green, who passed him on to a servant in black, who 
introduced him into a drawing-room, where he found 
himself face to face with a Briton coiled up in an attitude 

* This is probably the name Murger was making a shot at when he 
wrote “ Birn’n ” — about as near as a Frenchman usually comes to an 
English word. — Trans. 


THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUARTER. 


205 


which made him resemble Hamlet meditating on human 
nothingness. Schaunard was about to explain the reason 
of his presence, when a sudden volley of shrill cries cut 
short his speech. These horrid and ear-piercing sounds 
proceeded from a parrot hung out on the balcony of the 
story below. 

“Oh ! that beast! that beast I ” exclaimed the English- 
man, with a bound on his arm-chair; “it will kill me.” 

Thereupon the bird began to repeat its vocabulary, 
much more extensive than that of ordinary Pollies ; and 
Schaunard stood stupefied when he heard the animal, 
prompted by a female voice, reciting the speech of Ther- 
amenes with all the professional intonations. 

This parrot was the favourite of an actress who was 
then a great favourite herself, and very much the rage — 
in her own boudoir. She was one of those women who, 
no one knows why, are quoted at fancy prices on the 
Change of dissipation, and whose names are inscribed on 
the bills-of-fare of young noblemen's suppers, where they 
form the living dessert. It gives a Christian standing 
now-a-days to be seen with one of these Pagans, who 
often have nothing of antiquity about them except their 
age. When they are handsome, there is no such very 
great harm after all ; the worst one risks is to sleep on 
straw in return for making them sleep on rosewood. But 
when their beauty is bought by the ounce at the perfumer’s 
and will not stand three drops of water on a rag ; when 
their wit consists in a couplet of a farce, and their talent 
lies in the hand of the claqueur, it is hard indeed to un- 
derstand how respectable men with good names, ordinary 
sense, and decent coats, can let themselves be carried 
away by a commonplace passion for these most mer- 
cenary creatures. 

The actress in question was one of these belles of the 
day. She called herself Dolores, and professed to be a 


206 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

Spaniard, although she was born in that Parisian Andalusia 
known as the Rue Coquenard. From there to the Rue de 
Provence is about ten minutes’ walk, but it had cost her 
seven years to make the transit. Her prosperity had begun 
with the decline of her personal charms. She had a horse 
the day when her first false tooth was inserted and a pair 
the day of her second. Now she was living at a great 
rate, lodging in a palace, driving four horses on holidays, 
and giving balls to which all Paris came — the “all Paris” 
of these ladies — that is to say, that collection of lazy 
seekers after jokes and scandal ; the “all Paris ” that plays 
lansquenet; the sluggards of head and hand, who kill 
their own time and other people’s ; the writers who turn 
literary men to get some use out of the feather which 
nature placed on their backs ; the bullies of the revel, the 
clipped and sweated gentlemen, the chevaliers of doubt- 
ful orders, all the vagabonds of kid-glove-dom, that come 
from God-knows-where, and go back thither again some 
day ; all the marked and remarked notorieties ; all those 
daughters of Eve who retail what they once sold 
wholesale ; all that race of beings, corrupt from their 
cradle to their coffin, whom one sees on first nights at the 
theatre, with Golconda on their loreheads and Thibet on 
their shoulders, and for whom, notwithstanding, bloom 
the first violets of spring and the first passions of youth — 
all this world which the chronicles of gossip call “ all 
Paris,” was received by Dolores who owned the parrot 
aforesaid. 

This bird, celebrated for its oratorical talents among all 
the neighbours, had gradually become the terror of the 
nearest. Hung out on the balcony, it made a pulpit of its 
perch and spouted interminable harangues from morning 
to night. It had learned certain parliamentary topics 
from some political friends of its mistress, and was very 
strong on the sugar question. It knew all the actress’s 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. 207 

repertory by heart, and declaimed it well enough to have 
been her substitute in case of indisposition. Moreover, 
as she was rather polyglot in her flirtations, and received 
visitors from all parts of the world, the parrot spoke all 
languages, and would sometimes let out a lingua Franca 
of oaths enough to shock the sailors to whom “ Vert-Vert ’’ 
owed his profitable education. The company of this bird, 
which might be instructive and amusing for ten minutes, 
became a positive torture when prolonged. The neigh- 
bours had often complained ; the actress insolently dis- 
regarded their complaints. Two or three other tenants 
of the house, respectable fathers of families, indignant at 
the scandalous state of morals into which they were 
initiated by the indiscretions of the parrot, had given 
warning to the landlord. But the actress had got on his 
weak side ; whoever might go, she staid. 

The Englishman whose sitting-room Schaunard now 
entered, had suffered with patience for three months. One 
day he concealed his fury, which was ready to explode, 
under a full-dress suit, and sent in his card to Mademoi- 
selle Dolores. 

When she beheld him enter, arrayed almost as he would 
have been to present himself before Queen Victoria, she 
at first thought it must be Hoffmann, in his part of Lord 
Spleen ; and wishing to be civil to a fellow-artist, she 
offered him some breakfast. 

The Englishman understood French ; he had learnt it 
in twenty-five lessons of a Spanish refugee. Accordingly 
he replied : 

“ I accept your invitation on condition of our eating this 
disagreeable bird,” and he pointed to the cage of the par- 
rot, who, having already smelt an Englishman, saluted 
him by whistling “God save the King.” 

Dolores thought her neighbour was quizzing her, and 
was beginning to get angry, when Mr. Birne added : 


208 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LA.TIN QUARTER. 

*^As I am very rich, I will buy the animal : put your 
price on it.” 

Dolores answered that she valued the bird, and liked it, 
and would not wish to see it pass into the hands of 
another. 

“Oh ! it's not in my hands I want to put it,” replied the 

Englishman, “but under my feet — so and he 

pointed to the heels of his boots. 

Dolores shuddered with indignation, and would prob- 
ably have broken out, when she perceived on the English- 
man's finger a ring, the diamond of which represented an 
income of twenty-five hundred francs. This discovery 
was like a showerbath to her rage. She reflected that it 
might be imprudent to quarrel with a man who carried 
fifty thousand francs on his little finger. 

‘ ‘ Well, sir, ” she said, ‘ ‘ as poor Coco annoys you, I will 
put him in a back-room, where you cannot hear him.” 

The Englishman made a gesture of satisfaction. 

“ However,” added he, pointing once more to his boots, 
“I should have preferred ” 

“Don't be afraid. Where I mean to put him it will be 
impossible for him to trouble milord 

“Oh ! I am not a lord : only an esquire.” 

With that Mr. Birne was retiring, after a very low bow, 
when Dolores, who never neglected her interests, took up 
a small packet from a work-table, and said : 

“ To-night, sir, is my benefit at the theatre; I am to 
play in three pieces. Will you allow me to offer you some 
box-tickets .? The price has been but very slightly raised ; ” 
and she put a dozen boxes into the Briton's hand. 

“After showing myself so prompt to oblige him,” 
thought she, “ he cannot refuse, if he is a gentleman ; and 
if he sees me play in my pink costume, who knows ? He 
is very ugly, to be sure, and very sad-looking, but he 
might furnish me the means of going to England without 
being sea-sick. ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUARTEP. 209 

The Englishman having taken the tickets, had their 
purport explained to him a second time ; he then asked 
the price. 

“The boxes are sixty francs each, and there are ten 
there ; but no hurry," she added, seeing the Englishman 
take out his pocket-book : “I hope that as we are neigh- 
bours, this is not the last time I shall have the honour of 
a visit from you. " 

“ I do not like to run up bills," replied Mr. Birne ; and 
drawing from the pocket-book a thousand-franc note, he 
laid it on the table and slid the tickets into his pockets. 

“ I will give you your change," said Dolores, opening 
a little drawer. 

“ Never mind," said the Englishman; “ the rest will do 
for a drink ; " and he went off leaving Dolores thunder- 
struck at his last words. 

“For a drink I " she exclaimed ; “ what a clown ! I 
will send him back his money.” 

But her neighbour's rudeness had only irritated the 
epidermis of her vanity ; reflection calmed her ; she 
thought that a thousand francs made a very nice “ pile," 
after all, and that she had already put up with impertin- 
ence at a cheaper rate. 

“ Bah ! " said she to herself ; “ it won't do to be so proud. 
No one was by, and this is my washerwoman's month. 
And this Englishman speaks so badly, perhaps he only 
meant to pay me a compliment.” 

So she pocketed her bank-note joyfully. 

But that night after the theatre she returned home furi- 
ous. Mr. Birne had made no use of the tickets, and the 
ten boxes had remained vacant. 

Thus on appearing on the stage, the unfortunate bene- 
fictatre read on the countenances of her lady friends, the 
delight they felt at seeing the house so poorly filled. She 
even heard an actress of her acquaintance say to another, 
as she pointed to the empty boxes. 


210 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


Poor Dolores, she has only planted one stage box.” 

“True, the boxes are scarcely occupied,” was the re* 
joinder. 

“The stalls, too, are empty.” 

“Well, when they see her name on the bill, it acts on 
the house like an air pump. ” 

‘ ‘ Hence, what an idea to put up the price of the seats ! ” 

“ A fine benefit ! I will bet that the takings would not 
fill a money-box or the foot of a stocking. ” 

“Ah 1 there she is in her famous red velvet costume.” 

“ She looks like a lobster.” 

“ How much did you make out of your last benefit?” 
said another actress to her companion. 

“ The house was full, my dear, and it was a first night ; 
chairs in the gangway were worth a louis. But I only 
got six francs ; my milliner had all the rest. If I was not 
afraid of chilblains, I would go to Saint Petersburg. ” 

“ What ! You are not yet thirty, and are already think- 
ing of doing your Russia ? ” 

“What would you have ?” said the other, and she 
added, “ and you, is your benefit soon coming on. ” 

“ In a fortnight. I have already three thousand francs 
worth of tickets taken, without counting my young fellows 
from Saint Cyr. ” 

“ Hallo, the stalls are going out.” 

“ It is because Dolores is singing.” 

In fact, Dolores, as red in the face as her costume, was 
warbling her verses with a vinegary voice. Just as she 
was getting through it with difficulty, two bouquets fell at 
her feet, thrown by two actresses, her dear friends, who 
advanced to the front of their box, exclaiming : — 

“ Bravo, Dolores ! ” 

The fury of the latter may be readily imagined. Thus, 
on returning home, although it was the middle of the 
night she opened the window and woke up Coco, who 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 211 

woke up the honest Mr. Birne, who had dropped off to 
sleep on the faith of her promise. 

From that day war was declared between the actress 
and the Englishman ; a war to the knife, without truce or 
repose, the parties engaged in which recoiled before no 
expense or trouble. The parrot took finishing-lessons in 
English, and abused his neighbour all day in it, and in 
his shrillest falsetto. It was something awful. Dolores 
suffered from it herself, but she hoped that one day or 
other Mr. Birne would give warning. It was on that she 
had set her heart. The Englishman, on his part, began 
by establishing a school of drummers in his drawing-room, 
but the police interfered. He then set up a pistol-gallery ; 
his servants riddled fifty cards a day. Again the com- 
missary of police interposed, showing him an article in 
the municipal code, which forbids the usage of fire-arms 
indoors. Mr. Birne stopped firing, but a week after, 
Dolores found it was raining in her room. The landlord 
went to visit Mr. Birne, and found him taking salt-water 
baths in his drawing-room. This room, which was very, 
large, had been lined all round with sheets of metal, and 
had had all the doors fastened up. Into this extempore 
pond some hundred pails of water were poured, and a 
few tons of salt were added to them. It was a small 
edition of the sea. Nothing was lacking, not even fishes. 
Mr. Birne bathed there every day, descending into it by 
an opening made in the upper panel of the centre-door. 
Before long an ancient and fish-like smell pervaded the 
neighbourhood, and Dolores had half an inch of water in 
her bed-room. 

The landlord grew furious, and threatened Mr. Birne 
with an action for damages done to his property. 

“Have I not a right,” asked the Englishman, “to 
bathe in my rooms ? ” 

“Not in that way, sir." 


^12 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


“Very well, if I have no right to, I won’t,” said the 
Briton, full of respect for the laws of the country in 
which he lived. “It’s a pity ; I enjoyed it very much.” 

That very night he had his ocean drained off. It was 
full time : there was already an oyster-bed forming on 
the floor. 

However, Mr. Birne had not given up the contest : 
he was only seeking some legal means of continuing this 
singular warfare, which was “nuts” to all the Paris 
loungers, for the adventure had been blazed about in the 
lobbies of the theatres and other public places. Dolores 
felt equally bound to come triumphant out of the contest. 
Not a few bets had been made upon it. 

It was then that Mr. Birne thought of the piano as an 
instrument of warfare. It was not so bad an idea, the 
most disagreeable of instruments being well capable of 
contending against the most disagreeable of birds. As 
soon as this lucky thought occurred to him, he hastened 
to put it into execution, hired a piano, and inquired for a 
pianist. The pianist, it will be remembered, was our 
friend Schaunard. The Englishman recounted to him his 
sufferings from the parrot, and what he had already done 
to come to terms with the actress. 

“But, milord,” said Schaunard, there is a sure way 
to rid yourself of this creature — parsley. The chemists 
are unanimous in declaring that this culinary plant is 
prussic acid to such birds. Chop up a little parsley, and 
shake it out of the window on Coco’s cage, and the crea- 
ture will die as certainly as if Pope Alexander VI. had 
invited it to dinner.” 

^‘I thought of that myself,” said the Englishman, 
“but the beast is taken too good care of. The piano is 
surer. ’’ 

Schaunard looked at the other without catching his 
meaning at once. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN OUARTEK. 213 

‘'See here,” resumed the Englisman, “the actress and 
her animal always sleep till twelve. Follow my reason- 

ing 

“ Go on : I am at the heels of it.” 

“ I intend to disturb their sleep. The law of the coun- 
try authorizes me to make music from morning to night. 
Do you understand ? ” 

“But that will not be so disagreeable for her, if she 
hears me play the piano all day — for nothing, too. I am 
a first-rate hand, if I only had a lung gone ” 

“Exactly; but I don’t want you to make good music. 
You must only strike on your instrument, thus,’’ trying a 
scale, and always the same thing without pity, only one 
scale. I understand medicine a little ; that drives ])eople 
mad. They will both go mad ; that is what I look for. 
Come, Mr. Musician, to work at once. You shall be well 
paid.’’ 

“And so,” said Schaunard, who had recounted the 
above details to his friends, “this is what I have been 
doing for the last fortnight. One scale continually from 
seven in the morning till dark. It is not exactly serious 
art. But then the Englishman pays me two hundred 
francs a month for my noise ; it would be cutting one’s 
throat to refuse such a windfall. I accepted, and in two 
or three days I take my first month’s money.” 

It was after these mutual confidences that the three 
friends agreed amongst themselves to profit by the gen- 
eral accession of wealth to give their mistresses the spring 
outfit that the coquetry of each of them had been wish- 
ing for so long. It was further agreed that whoever 
pocketed his money first should wait for the others, so 
that the purchases should be made at the same time, and 
that Mesdemoiselles Mimi, Musette, and Ph^mie should 
enjoy the pleasure of casting their old skins, as Schaunard 
put it together. 


214 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


Well, two or three days after this council Rodolphe came 
in first ; his dental poem had been paid for ; it weighed 
in eighty francs. The next day IVIarcel drew from Med- 
icis the price of eighteen corporals’ likenesses, at six francs 
each. 

Marcel and Rodolphe had all the difficulty in the world 
to hide their good fortune. 

“ It seems to me that I sweat gold,” said the poet. 

“It is the same with me,” said Marcel. “ If Schau- 
nard delays much longer, it would be impossible for me 
to continue to play the part of an anonymous Croesus.” 

But the very next morning saw Schaunard arrive, splen- 
didly attired in a bright yellow nankeen jacket. 

“ Good heavens !” exclaimed Phemie, dazzled on see- 
ing her lover so elegantly got up, * ‘ where did you find 
that jacket ? ” 

“ I found it amongst my papers,” replied the musician, 
making a sign to his two friends to follow him. “ I have 
drawn the coin,” said he, when they were alone. “Be- 
hold it,” and he displayed a handful of gold. 

“Well,” exclaimed Marcel, “forward; let us sack the 
shops. How happy Musette will be.” 

‘ ‘ How pleased Mimi will be,” added Rodolphe. ‘ ‘Come, 
are you coming, Schaunard? ” 

‘ ‘ Allow me to reflect, ” replied the musician. ‘ ‘ In deck- 
ing out these ladies with the thousand caprices of fashion, 
we shall perhaps be guilty of a mistake. Think on it. 
Are you not afraid that when they resemble the engravings 
in ‘The Scarf of Iris, these splendors will exercise a de- 
plorable influence upon their characters, and does it suit 
young fellows like us to behave towards women as if we 
were aged and wrinkled dotards? It is not that I hesitate 
about sacrificing fifteen or eighteen francs to dress Phemie ; 
but I tremble. When she has a new bonnet she will not 
even recognize me, perhaps. She looks so well with only 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETER. 


215 


a flower in her hair. What do you think about it, philoso- 
pher?” broke off Schaunard, addressing Colline, who had 
come in within the last few minutes. 

“ Ingratitude is the offspring of kindness,” observed the 
philosopher. 

“On the other hand,” continued Schaunard, “when 
your mistresses are well dressed, what sort of a figure will 
you cut beside them in your dilapidated costumes ? You 
will look like their waiting maids. I do not speak for my- 
self,” he broke off, drawing himself up in his nankeen 
jacket, “for, thank heaven, I could go anywhere now.” 

However, despite the spirit of opposition shown by 
Schaunard, it was once more agreed that the next day all 
the shops of the neighbourhood should be ransacked to 
the advantage of the ladies. 

And, indeed, the next day, at the very moment that we 
have seen at the beginning of this chapter. Mademoiselle 
Mimi woke up very much astonished at Rodolphe’s ab- 
sence, the poet and his two friends were ascending the 
stairs, accompanied by a shopman from the Deux Magots 
and a milliner with specimens. Schaunard, who had 
bought the famous hunting horn, marched before them 
playing the overture to “The Caravan.” 

Musette and Phemie, summoned by Mimi, who was 
living on the lower floor, descended the stairs with the 
swiftness of avalanches on hearing the news that bonnets 
and dresses had been brought for them. Seeing this poor 
wealth spread out before them, the three women went 
almost mad with joy. Mimi was seized with a fit of hy- 
sterical laughter, and skipped about like a kid, waving a 
little barege scarf. Musette threw her arms round Marcel’s 
neck, with a little green boot in each hand, which she 
smote together like cymbals. Phemie looked at Schaun- 
ard and sobbed ; she could only say : 

“Oh! Alexandre, Alexandre.” 


210 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


“There is no danger of her refusing the presents of 
Artaxerxes,” murmured Colline, the philosopher. 

After the first outbursts of joy were over, when the choices 
had been made and the bills settled, Rodolphe announced 
to the three girls that they would have to make arrange- 
ments to try on their new things the next morning. 

“We will go into the country,” said he. 

“A fine thing to make a fuss of,” exclaimed Musette. 
“ It is not the first time that I have bought, cut out, sewn 
together, and worn a dress the same day. Besides, we 
have the night before us, too. We shall be ready, shall 
we not, ladies ? ” 

“Oh, yes! we shall be ready,” exclaimed Mimi and 
Phemie together. 

They at once set to work, and for sixteen hours did not 
lay aside scissors or needle. 

The next day was the first of May. The Easter bells 
had rung in the resurrection of spring a few days 
before, and she had come, eager and joyful. She came, 
as the German ballad says, light-hearted as the young 
lover who is going to plant a Maypole before the window 
of his betrothed. She painted the sky blue, the trees green, 
and all things in bright colours. She aroused the torpid 
sun, who was sleeping in his bed of mists, his head resting 
on the snow-laden clouds that served him as a pillow, and 
cried to him, “ Hi ! hi ! my friend; time is up. and I am 
here ; quick to work. Put on your fine dress of fresh 
rays without further delay, and show yourself at once 
on your balcony to announce my arrival.” 

Upon which the sun had indeed set out, and was march- 
ing along as proud and haughty as some great lord of the 
court. The swallows, returned from their Eastern pilgrim- 
age, filled the air with their flight, the may whitened 
the bushes, the violets scented the woods, in which the 
birds were leaving their nests each with a roll of music 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAllTElt. 


217 


under its wings. It was spring indeed, the true spring of 
poets and lovers, and not the spring of the almanac maker 
— an ugly spring with a red nose and frozen fingers, 
which still keeps poor folk shivering at the chimney- 
corner when the last ashes of the last log have long 
since burnt out. The balmy breeze swept through the 
transparent atmosphere and scattered throughout the city 
the first scent of the surrounding country. The rays of 
the sun, bright and warm, tapped at the windows. To 
the invalid they cried, “Open, we are health ; ” and at 
the garret of the young girl bending towards her mirror, 
innocent first love of the most innocent, they said, “Open 
darling, that W’e may light up your beauty. We are the 
messengers of fine weather. You can now put on your cot- 
ton frock and your straw hat, and lace your smart boots ; 
the groves in which folk foot it are decked with bright 
new flowers, and the violins are tuning for the Sunday 
dance. Good morning, my dear ! ” 

When the aftgelus rang out from the neighbouring church, 
the three hard-working coquettes, who had scarcely time 
to sleep a few hours, were already before their looking- 
glasses, giving their final glance at their new attire. 

They were all three charming, dressed alike, and wear- 
ing on their faces the same glow of satisfaction imparted 
by the realization of a long-cherished wish. 

Musette was, above all, dazzlingly beautiful. 

“ I have never felt so happy,’' said she to Marcel, 
“ It seems to me that God has put into this hour all the 
happiness of my life, and I am afraid that there will be 
no more left for me. Ah ! bah ! when there is no more 
left, there will still be some more. We have the receipt 
for making it,” she added, gaily kissing him. 

As to Phemie, one thing vexed her. 

“I am very fond of the green grass and the little birds,” 
said she ; “but in the country one never meets anyone, 


218 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

and there will be no one to see my pretty bonnet and my 
nice dress. Suppose we went into the country on the 
Boulevards ? " 

At eight in the morning the whole street was in a com- 
motion, due to the blasts from Schaunard's horn giving 
the signal to start. All the neighbours were at their 
windows to see the Bohemians go by. Colline who was 
of the party, brought up the rear, carrying the ladies' 
parasols. An hour later the whole of the joyous band 
were scattered about jhe fields at Fontenay-aux-Roses.” 

When they returned home, very late at night, Colline, 
who during the day had discharged the duties of treas- 
urer, stated that they had omitted to spend six francs, 
and placed this balance on the table. 

“What shall we do with it ? asked Marcel. 

“Suppose we invest it in Government stock,*’ said 
Schaunard. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


210 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

francine's muff. 

Amongst the true Bohemians of the real Bohemia, I 
used to know one, named Jacques D. He was a sculp- 
tor, and gave promise of great talent. But poverty did 
not give him time to fulfil his promise. He died of de- 
bility in March, 184 — , at the St. Louis Hospital, on bed 
No. 14 in the Sainte Victoire ward. 

I made the acquaintance of Jacques at the hospital, 
where I was detained myself by a long illness. Jacques 
had, as I have said, the makings of a great talent, and yet 
he was quite unassuming about it. During the two 
months I spent in his company, and during which he 
felt himself cradled in the arms of Death, I never once 
heard him complain or give himself up to those lament- 
ations which render the unappreciated artist so ridiculous. 
He died without attitudinizing. His death brings to my 
mind, too, one of the most horrible scenes I ever saw in 
that caravanserai of human sufferings. His father, in- 
formed of the event, came to reclaim the body, and for 
a long time haggled over giving the thirty-six francs de- 
manded by the hospital authorities. He also haggled 
over the funeral service, and so persistently that they 
ended by knocking off six francs. At the moment of 
putting the corpse into the coffin, the male nurse took off 
the hospital sheet, and asked one of the deceased’s friends 
who was there for the money for a shroud. Tlje poor 
devil, who had not a sou, went to Jacques’s father, who 
got into a fearful rage, and asked when they would finish 
bothering him. 


220 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTER. 

The sister of charity, who was present at this horrible 
discussion, cast a glance at the corpse, and uttered these 
simple and feeling words : 

“Oh ! sir, you cannot have him buried like that, poor 
fellow, it is so cold. Give him at least a shirt, that he 
may not arrive quite naked before his God." 

The father gave five francs to the friend to get a shirt, 
but recommended him to go to a wardrobe shop in the 
Rue Grange-aux-Belles, where they sold second-hand 
linen. 

‘ ‘ It will be cheaper there," said he. 

This cruelty on the part of Jacques's father was ex- 
plained to me later on. He was furious because his son 
had chosen an artistic career, and his anger remained un- 
appeased even in presence of a coffin. 

But I am very far from Mademoiselle Francine and her 
muff. I will return to them. Mademoiselle Francine was 
the first and only mistress of Jacques, who did not die 
very old, for he was scarcely three-and-twenty when his 
father would have had him laid naked in the earth. The 
story of his love was told me by Jacques himself when 
he was No. 14 and I was No. 16 in the Sainte Victoire 
ward — an ugly spot to die in. 

Ah ! reader, before I begin this story, which would be 
a touching one if I could tell it as it was told to me by 
my friend Jacques, let me take a pull or two at the old 
clay pipe he gave me on the day that the doctor forbade 
its use by him. Yet at night, when the male nurse was 
asleep, my friend Jacques would borrow his pipe with a 
little tobacco from me. It is so wearisome at night in 
those vast wards, when one suffers and cannot sleep. 

“Only two or three whiffs," he would say, and I would 
let him have it ; and Sister Sainte-Genevieve did not seem 
to notice the smoke when she made her round. Ah ! 
good sister, how kind you were, and how beautiful you 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


221 


looked, too, when you came to sprinkle us with holy 
water. We could see you approaching, walking slowly 
along the gloomy aisles, draped in your white veil, which 
fell in such graceful folds, and which our friend Jacques 
admired so much. Ah ! kind sister, you were the Beatrice 
of that Inferno. So sweet were your consolations that we 
were always complaining in order to be consoled by you. 
If my friend Jacques had not died one snowy day he 
would have carved you a nice little Virgin Mary to put 
in your cell, good Sister Sainte-Genevieve. 

A Reader : Well, and the muff? I do not see any- 
thing of the muff. 

Another Reader : And Mademoiselle Francine, where- 
abouts is she, then ? 

First Reader : This story is not very lively. 

Second Reader : We shall see further on. 

I really beg your pardon, gentlemen, it is my friend 
Jacques’s pipe that has led me away into these digressions. 
But, besides, I am not pledged to make you laugh. 
Times are not always gay in Bohemia. 

Jacques and Francine had met in a house in the Rue 
de la Tour d’ Auvergne, into which they had both moved 
at the same time at the April quarter. 

The artist and the young girl were a week without 
entering on those neighbourly relations which are almost 
always forced on one when dwelling on the same floor. 
However, without having exchanged a word, they 
were already acquainted with one another. Francine 
knew that her neighbour was a poor devil of an artist, 
and Jacques had learned that his was a little seamstress 
who had quitted her family to escape the ill-usage of a 
stepmother. She accomplished miracles of economy to 
make both ends meet, and as she had never known pleas- 
ure, had no longing for it. This is how the pair came 
under the common law of partition walls. One evening 


222 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


in April Jacques came home worn out with fatigue fast- 
ing since morning, and profoundly sad with one of those 
vague sadnesses which have no precise cause, and which 
seize on you anywhere and at all times ; a kind of apo- 
plexy of the heart to which poor wretches living alone 
are especially subject. Jacques, who felt stifling in his 
narrow room, opened the window to breathe a little. 
The evening was a fine one, and the setting sun displayed 
its melancholy splendours above the hills of Montmartre. 
Jacques remained pensively at his window listening to 
the winged chorus of spring harmony which added to 
his sadness. Seeing a raven flit by uttering a croak, he 
thought of the days when ravens brought food to Elijah, 
the pious recluse, and reflected that these birds were no 
longer so charitable. Then, not being able to stand it 
any longer, he closed his window, drew the curtain, and, 
as he had not the wherewithal to buy oil for his lamp, 
lit a resin taper that he had brought back from a trip to 
the Grande-Chartreuse. Sadder than ever he filled his 
pipe. 

‘‘Luckily, I have still enough tobacco to hide the pis- 
tol,” murmured he, and began to smoke. 

My friend Jacques must have been very sad that even- 
ing to think about hiding the pistol. It was his supreme 
resource on great crises, and was usually pretty success- 
ful. The plan was as follows. Jacques smoked tobacco 
on which he used to sprinkle a few drops of laudanum, 
and he would smoke until the cloud of smoke from his pipe 
became thick enough to veil from him all the objects in his 
little room, and, above all, a pistol hanging on the wall. 
It was a matter of half a score pipes. By the time the 
pistol was wholly invisible it almost always happened that 
the smoke and the laudanum combined would send 
Jacques off to sleep, and it also often happened that his 
sadness left him at the commencement of his dreams. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


223 


But on this particular evening he had used up all his 
tobacco ; the pistol was completely hidden, and yet Jacques 
was still bitterly sad. That evening, on the contrary, Made- 
moiselle Francine was extremely light-hearted when she 
came home, and, like Jacques’s sadness, her light-hearted- 
ness was without cause ; it was one of those joys that come 
from heaven, and that God scatters amongst good hearts. 
So Mademoiselle Francine was in a good temper, and 
sang to herself as she came upstairs. But as she was 
going to open her door a puff of wind, coming through 
the open staircase window, suddenly blew out her candle. 

‘ ‘ Oh ! what a nuisance, ” exclaimed the girl, ‘ ‘ six flights 
of stairs to go down and up again. ” 

But, noticing the light coming from under Jacques's 
door, the instinct of idleness g^rafted on a feeling of curi 
osity, advised her to go and ask the artist for alight. “ It 
is a service daily rendered amongst neighbours,” thought 
she, “and there is nothing compromising about it.” 

She tapped twice, therefore, at the door, and Jacques 
opened it, somewhat surprised at this late visit. But 
scarcely had she taken a step into the room than the smoke 
that filled it suddenly choked her, and, before she was 
able to speak a word, she sank fainting into a chair, 
dropping her candle and her room door key on to the 
ground. It was midnight, and every one in the house 
was asleep. Jacques thought it better not to call for help ; 
he was afraid, in the first place, of compromising his 
neighbour. He contented himself, therefore, with open- 
ing the window to let in a little fresh air, and, after hav- 
ing sprinkled a few drops of water on the girl’s face, saw 
her open her eyes and by degrees come to herself. When, 
at the end of five minutes’ time, she had wholly recovered 
consciousness, Francine explained the motive that had 
brought her into the artist’s room, and made many excuses 
for what had happened. . 


224 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


“Now, then, I am recovered,’' said she, “ I can go in 
to my own room.” 

He had already opened the door, when she perceived 
that she was not only forgetting to light her candle, but 
that she had not the key of her room. 

‘ ‘ Silly thing that I am, ” said she, putting her candle to the 
flame of the resin taper, “ I came in here to get a light, 
and I am going away without one.” 

But at the same moment the draught caused by the 
door and window, both of which had remained open, 
suddenly blew out the taper, and the two young folk 
were left in darkness. 

“One would think that it W’as done on purpose,” said 
Francine. “Forgive me, sir, for all the trouble I am 
giving you, and be good enough to strike a light so that 
I may find my key.” 

“Certainly, mademoiselle,” answered Jacques, feeling 
for the matches. 

He had soon found them. But a singular idea flashed 
across his mind, and he put the matches in his pocket, 
saying, “ Dear me, mademoiselle, here is another trouble. 

I have not a single match here. I used the last when I 
came in.” 

“Oh!” said Francine, “after all I can very well find 
my way without a light, my room is not big enough for 
me to lose myself in it. But I must have my key. Will 
you be good enough, sir, to help me to look for it ? It must 
have fallen to the ground.” 

“Let us look for it, mademoiselle,” said Jacques. 

And both of them began to seek the lost article in the 
dark, but as though guided by a common instinct, it hap- 
pened during this search that their hands, groping in the 
same spot, met ten times a minute. And, as they were 
both equally awkward, they did not find the key. 

“The moon, which is hidden just now by the clouds. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF IHE LATIN QUARTER. 225 

shines light into the room," said Jacques. *‘Let us wait 
a bit ; by-and-by it will light up the room, and may help 
us." 

And, pending the appearance of the moon, they began 
to talk. A conversation in the dark, in a little room, on 
a spring night ; a conversation which, at the outset tri- 
fling and unimportant, gradually enters on the chapter of 
personal confidences. You know what that leads to. 
Language by degrees grows confused, full of reticences ; 
voices are lowered ; words alternate with sighs. Hands 
meeting complete the thought which from the heart as- 
cends to the lips, and Seek the conclusion in your 

recollection, young couples. Do you remember, young 
man ; do you remember, young lady, you who now walk 
hand-in-hand, and who, up to two days back, had never 
seen one another? 

At length the moon broke through the clouds, and her 
bright light flooded the room. Mademoiselle Francine 
awoke from her reverie uttering a faint cry. 

‘*What is the matter? " asked Jacques, putting his arm 
round her waist. 

Nothing," murmured Francine. “ I thought I heard 
someone knock." 

And, without Jacques noticing it, she pushed the key 
that she had just noticed under some of the furniture. 

She did not want to find it now. 

♦ ♦ ♦ * ♦ 

First Reader : I certainly will not let my daughter read 
this story. 

Second Reader : Up till now I have not caught a glimpse 
of a single hair of Mademoiselle Francine’s muff ; and, 
as to the young woman herself, I do not know any bet- 
ter what she is like, whether she is fair or dark. 

Patience, readers, patience. I have promised you a 
muff, and I will give you one later on, as my friend 


22(3 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

Jacques did to his poor love Francine, who had become 
his mistress, as I have explained in the line left blank 
above. 

She was fair was Francine, fair and lively, which is not 
usual. She had remained ignorant of love till she was 
twenty, but a vague presentimemt of her approaching 
end counselled her not to delay if she would become ac- 
quainted with it. 

She met Jacques and loved him. Their connection 
lasted six months. They had taken one another in the 
spring ; they were parted in the autumn. Francine was 
consumptive. She knew it and her lover Jacques knew 
it too ; a fortnight after he had taken up with her he had 
learnt it from one of his friends, who was a doctor. 

“She will go with the autumn leaves,” said the latter. 

Francine heard this confidence, and perceived the grief 
it caused her lover. 

“What matters the autumn leaves?” said she, putting 
the whole of her love into a smile. “What matters the 
autumn ; it is summer, and the leaves are green ; let us 
profit by that, love. When you see me ready to depart 
from this life, you shall take me in your arms and kiss 
me, and forbid me to go. I am obedient, you know, and 
I will stay.” 

And for five months this charming creature passed 
through the miseries of Bohemian life, a smile and a song 
on her lips. As to Jacques, he let himself be deluded. 
His friend often said to him : “ Francine is worse ; she 

must be attended to.” Then Jacques went all over Paris 
to obtain the wherewithal for the doctor’s prescription, 
but Francine would not hear of it, and threw the medicine 
out of the window. At night, when she was seized with 
a fit of coughing, she would leave the room and go out 
on the landing, so that Jacques might not hear her. 

One day, when they had both gone into the country. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


227 


Jacques saw a tree, the foliage of which was turning to 
yellow. He gazed sadly at Francine, who was walking 
slowly and somewhat dreamily. 

Francine saw Jacques turn pale and guessed the reason 
of his pallor. 

“You are foolish,” said she, kissing him, “we are 
only in July, it is three months to October, loving one 
another day and night as w^e do, we shall double the time 
we have to spend together. And then, besides, if I feel 
worse when the leaves turn yellow, we will go and live 
in a pine forest, the leaves are always green there. 

♦ ♦ ;jc ♦ 

In October Francine was obliged to keep her bed. 
Jacques’s friend attended her. The little room in which 
they lived was situate right at the top of the house and 
looked into a court, in which there was a tree, which day 
by day grew barer of foliage. Jacques had put a curtain 
to the window to hide this tree from the invalid, but 
Francine insisted on its being drawn back. 

“Oh ! my darling,” said she to Jacques, “ I will give 
you a hundred times more kisses than there are leaves.” 
And she added, “Besides I am much better now^ I 
shall soon be able to go out, but as it will be cold, and 
I do not want to have red hands, you must buy me a 
muff.” 

During the whole of her illness this muff was her only 
dream. 

The day before “All Saints,” seeing Jacques more 
grief-stricken than ever, she wished to give him courage, 
and to prove to him that she was better slie got up. 

The doctor arrived at that moment and forced her to 
go to bed again. 

“Jacques,” whispered he in the artist’s ear, “you 
must summon up your courage. All is over ; Francine 
is dying. ” 


228 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


Jacques burst into tears. 

“You may give her whatever she asks for now/’ con- 
tinued the doctor, “there is no hope.” 

Francine heard with her eyes what the doctor had said 
to her lover. 

“Do not listen to him,” she exclaimed, holding out her 
arm to Jacques ; “do not listen to him ; he is not speak- 
ing the truth. We will go out to-morrow — it is All Saints’ 
Day ; it will be cold — go and buy me a muff, I beg of 
you. I am afraid of chilblains this winter.” 

Jacques was going out with his friend, but Francine 
detained the doctor. 

“Go and get my muff,” said she to Jacques; “get a 
nice one, so that it may last a good while.” 

When she was alone she said to the doctor, 

“Oh! sir, I am going to die, and I know it. But 
before I pass away give me something to give me strength 
for a night, I beg of you ; make me well for one more 
night, and let me die afterwards, since God does not wish 
me to live longer.” 

As the doctor was doing his best to console her, the 
wind carried into the room and cast upon the sick girl’s 
bed a yellow leaf, torn from the tree in the little court- 
yard. 

Francine opened the curtain, and saw the tree entirely 
bare. 

“It is the last,” said she, putting the leaf under her 
pillow. 

“You will not die till to-morrow,” said the doctor; 
“you have a night before you.” 

“Ah! what happiness,” exclaimed the poor girl; “a 
winter’s night — it will be a long one.” 

Jacques came back ; he brought a muff with him. 

“ It is very pretty,” said Francine; “I will wear it 
when I go out.” 



Franciue opened the curtain, and saw llie tree entirely bare. 


y . - 


'‘1 

■'• 't* . ^ I ■ ^ 

• - . .. » ) • I • - .» t- . - 


i 


■-i>i 




■f 

b f 'V- 


I ”' 0 ' — r' 

W * 

• • • -J 

' f 


«•* 


,• ^ 




‘VN 


><-■ 

■ sra 








I -.- 


• ,: ‘ 




•’• ■ r <■* 








1 . 


*1 - 


*. - . 




V 


* f . i» '.' 




f 




w # 


iS 




> 


< 4 
•» 






r “ ^ 

• V* .» '%, * ■- 






.# >. 


. A 


' • ’ . 

. ir '* 

^ r** .. 


.'/Vy. 


. 1* 




’■# 


’V^ 


j*- 
* « 


1 ■ 


^ • 

# : 


« « 

V .V. 

f* f 


V "" ■ 


* . 

< 


r* .%=.-■ >*/ . ' 

•’ V .^1 -- ' »’- 

JrjV f*-- - •: 

• vr *^ •-^^- “-'V 

5 * 1 . . ' - 

rx_iA" ,-. 
ir-j. '-Y ^ ^ 


^’r • 

v* 

' -C. • 


t ^ 
■ 




« 

k 


V 


s ( 

^ 4 




-» » 

^ V 

r'J 


d 


•1 


1 

. i 

* 




i 


y *1 ^ 

i 


f. 

« 

k 

; ^ 




’ 


i“ 


A > - V . ' > 


' % 




1 

% 


■'V 


I « 



# • 



t 


% 






» k 


4 

> 

I 


I 




f 


I 


> 



I 




I 


1 




4 


I 


w< 

" ^ 




«• 


» c 




•»- i 


. • 
ft 



' !*■■■'''* 


1 




' k 


I 




-4 


•. f 





• ft 






« 










c •« 





i 



" • ^ I V *c* 

§ I > 



I « 




» y ." 

. \ 1 


1 





.1 

r 

M - - 

' * 

I i 

. •« 



4 


r 




« 


• "'r. ■ .. . . 


fk 

si. 


« « • 


.» 


% 


9 


* 

I *• S 


< V 


4 







THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


229 


She passed the night with Jacques. 

The next day — All Saints’ — about the middle of the 
day, the death agony seized on her, and her whole body 
began to quiver. 

‘‘My hands are cold,” she murmured; “give me my 
muff.” 

And she buried her poor hands in the fur. 

“It is the end,” said the doctor to Jacques. “Kiss her 
for the last time.” 

Jacques pressed his lips to those of his love. At the 
last moment they wanted to take away the muff, but she 
clutched it with her hands. 

“No, no,” she said, “leave it to me ; it is winter, it is 
cold. Oh ! my poor Jacques, my poor Jacques ! what 
will become of you ? Oh ! heavens ! ” 

And the next day Jacques was alone. 

First Reader . — I told you that this was not a very lively 
story. 

What would you have, reader ? we cannot always 
laugh. 

It was the morning of All Saints. Francine was dead. 

Two men were watching at the bedside; the one of 
them standing up was the doctor ; the other, kneeling be- 
side the bed, was pressing his lips to the dead girl’s hands, 
and seemed to seek to rivet them there in a despairing 
kiss. It was Jacques, her lover. For more than six 
hours he had been plunged in a state of heart-broken 
insensibility. An organ playing under the windows had 
just roused him from it. 

This organ was playing a tune that Francine was in the 
habit of singing of a morning. 

One of those mad hopes that are only born out of deep 
de*spair flashed across Jacques’s mind. He went back a 
month in the past — to the period when Francine was only 

sick unto death ; he forgot the present, and imagined for 

% 


230 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEB. 

a moment that the dead girl was but sleeping, and that 
she would wake up directly, her mouth full of her morn- 
ing song. 

But the sounds of the organ had not yet died away 
before Jacques had already come back to the reality. 
Francine’s mouth was eternally closed to all songs, and 
the smile that her last thought had brought to her lips was 
fading away from them beneath death’s fingers. 

“ Take courage, Jacques,” said the doctor, who was the 
sculptor’s friend. 

Jacques rose, and said, looking fixedly at him, **It is 
over, is it not — there is no longer any hope ? ” 

Without replying to this wild inquiry, Jacques’s friend 
went and drew the curtains of the bed, and then, return- 
ing to the sculptor, held out his hand. 

*‘Francine is dead,” said he; “we were bound to 
expect it, though heaven knows that we have done what 
we could to save her. She was a good girl, Jacques, who 
loved you very dearly — dearer and better than you loved 
her yourself, for hers was love alone, whilst yours held an 
alloy. Francine is dead, but all is not yet over ; we must 
now think about the steps necessary for her burial. We 
will set about that together, and we will ask one of the 
neighbours to keep watch here whilst we are away.” 

Jacques allowed himself to be led away by his friend. 
They passed the day between the registrar of deaths, the 
undertaker, and the cemetery. As Jacques had no money, 
the doctor pawned his watch, a ring, and some clothes, 
to cover the cost of the funeral, that was fixed for the next 
day. 

They both got in late at night. The neighbour who had 
been watching tried to make Jacques eat a little. 

“Yes,” said he, “I will; I am very cold, and I shall 
need a little strength for my work to night.” 

The neighbour and the doctor did not understand him. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 231 

Jacques sat down at the table, and eat a few mouthfuls 
so hurriedly that he was almost choked. Then he asked 
for drink ; but on lifting his glass to his lips he let it fall. 
The glass, which broke on the floor, had awakened in 
the artist's mind a recollection which itself revived his 
momentarily dulled pain. The day on which Francine 
had called on him for the first time she had felt ill, and he 
had given her to drink out of this glass. Later, when 
they were living together, they had regarded it as a love- 
token. 

During his rare moments of wealth the artist would buy 
for his love one or two bottles of the strengthening wine 
prescribed for her, and it was from this glass that Francine 
used to sip the liquid whence her love drew a charming 
gaiety. 

Jacques remained for more than half an hour staring 
without uttering a word at the scattered fragments of this 
frail and cherished token. It seemed to him that his heart 
was also broken, and that he could feel the fragments 
tearing his breast. When he had recovered himself, he 
picked up the pieces of glass and placed them in a drawer. 
Then he asked the neighbour to fetch him two candles, 
and to send up a bucket of water by the porter. 

“ Do not go away," said he to the doctor, who had no 
intention of doing so ; “I shall want you presently." ' 

The water and the candles were brought and the two 
friends left alone. 

“What do you want to do ? " asked the doctor, watching 
Jacques, who after filling a wooden bowl with water was 
sprinkling powdered plaster of Paris into it. 

“ What do I mean to do ? " said the artist, “ cannot you 
guess ? I am going to model Francine’s head, and as my 
courage would fail me if I were left alone, you must stay 
with me." 

Jacques then went and drew the curtains of the bed and 


232 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

turned down the sheet that had been pulled up over the 
dead girls face. His hand began to tremble and a stifled 
sob broke from his lips. 

“Bring the candles,” he cried to his friend, “and come 
and hold the bowl for me. ” 

One of the candles was placed at the head of the bed so 
as to shed its light on Francine s face, the other candle 
was placed at the foot. With a brush dipped in olive oil 
the artist coated the eye-brows, the eye-lashes and the 
hair, which he arranged as Francine usually wore it. 

“By doing this she will not suffer when we remove the 
mould,” murmured Jacques to himself. 

These precautions taken and after arranging the dead 
girl’s head in a favourable position, Jacques began to lay 
on the plaster in successive coats till the mould had 
attained the necessary thickness. In a quarter of an hour 
the operation was over and had been thoroughly 
successful. 

By some strange peculiarity a change had taken place 
in Francine’s face. The blood, which had not had time 
to become wholly congealed, warmed no doubt by the 
warmth of the plaster, had flowed to the upper part of the 
corpse and a rosy tinge gradually showed itself on the 
death whiteness of the cheeks and forehead. The eyelids, 
which had lifted when the mould was removed, revealed 
the tranquil blue eyes in which a vague intelligence still 
seemed to lurk ; from out the lips, parted by the 
beginning of a smile there seemed to issue that last word, 
forgotten during the last farewell, that is only heard by 
the heart. 

Who can affirm that intelligence absolutely ends where 
insensibility begins ? Who can say that the passions 
(ade away and die exactly at the last beat of the heart 
which they have agitated ? Cannot the soul sometimes 
remain a voluntary captive within the corpse already 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


233 


dressed for the coffin, and note for a moment from the " 
recesses of its fleshly prison house, regrets and tears? 
Those who depart have so many reasons to mistrust 
those who remain behind. 

At the moment when Jacques sought to preserve her 
features by the aid of art who knows but that a thought 
of after life had perhaps returned to awaken Francine in 
her first slumber of the sleep that knows no end. Per- 
haps she had remembered that he whom she had just left 
was an artist at the same time as a lover, that he was 
both because he could not be one without the other, that 
for him love was the soul of heart and that if he had loved 
her so, it was because she had been for him a mistress 
and a woman, a sentiment in a form. And then, perhaps, 
Francine, wishing to leave Jacques the human form that 
had become for him an incarnate ideal, had been able 
though dead and cold already to once more clothe her 
face with all the radiance of love and with all the graces 
of youth, to resuscitate the art treasure. 

And perhaps, too, the poor girl had thought rightly, for 
there exist among true artists singular Pygmalions who, 
contrary to the original one, would like to turn their 
living Galateas to marble. 

In presence of the serenity of this face on which the 
death pangs had no longer left any trace, no one would 
have believed in the prolonged sufferings that had served 
as a preface to death. Francine seemed to be continuing 
a dream of love, and seeing her thus one would have said 
that she had died of beauty. 

The doctor, worn out with fatigue, was asleep in a 
corner. 

As to Jacques, he was again plunged in doubt. His 
mind beset with hallucinations, persisted in believing 
that she whom he had loved so well was on the poiifl of 
awakening, and as faint nervous contractions, due to the 


234 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

recent action of the plaster, broke at intervals the im- 
mobility of the corpse, this semblance of life served to 
maintain Jacques in his blissful illusion, which lasted 
until morning, when a police official called to verify the 
death and authorize the interment. 

Besides, if it needed all the folly of despair to doubt of 
iier death on beholding this beautiful creature, it also 
needed all the infallibility of science to believe it. 

Whilst the neighbour was putting Francine into her 
shroud Jacques was led away into the next room, where 
he found some of his friends who had come to follow the 
funeral. The Bohemians desisted as regards Jacques, 
whom, however, they loved in brotherly fashion, from 
all those consolations which only serve to irritate grief. 
Without uttering one of those remarks so hard to frame 
and so painful to listen to, they silently shook their friend 
by the hand in turn. 

“ Her death is a great misfortune for Jacques,” said one 
of them. 

“ Yes,’’ replied the painter Lazare, a strange spirit who 
had been able at the very outset to conquer all the rebel- 
lious impulses of youth by the inflexibility of one set pur- 
pose, and in whom the artist had ended by stifling the 
man, yes, but it is a misfortune that he incurred volun- 
tarily. Since he knew Francine, Jacques has greatly 
altered.” 

“She made him happy,” said another. 

Happy,” replied Lazare, “what do you call happy.? 
How can you call a passion, which brings a man to the 
condition in which Jacques is at this moment, happiness ? 
Show him a masterpiece and he would not even turn his 
eyes to look at it ; and I am sure that to see his mistress 
once again he would walk on a Titian or a Raphael. My 
mistress is immortal and will never deceive me. She 
dwells in the Louvre, and her name is Jaconde.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 235 

Whilst Lazare was about to continue his theories on art 
and sentiment, it was announced that it was time to start 
for the church. 

After a few prayers the funeral procession moved on to 
the cemetery. As it was All Souls’ Day an immense crowd 
filled it. Many people turned to look at Jacques walk- 
ing bareheaded in rear of the hearse. 

“Poor fellow,” said one, “ it is his mother, no doubt.” 

“ It is his father,” said another. 

“It is his sister,” was elsewhere remarked. 

A poet, who had come thereto study the varying expres- 
sions of regret at this festival of recollections celebrated 
once a year amidst November fogs,- alone guessed on 
seeing him pass that he was following the funeral of his 
mistress. 

When they came to the grave the Bohemians ranged 
themselves about it bareheaded, Jacques stood close to 
the edge, his friend the doctor holding him by the arm. 

The grave-diggers were in a hurry and wanted to get 
things over quickly. 

“There is to be no speechifying,” said one of them. 

“Well, so much the better. Heave, mate, that’s it.” 

The coffin taken out of the hearse was lowered into the 
grave. One man withdrew the ropes and then with one 
of his mates took a shovel and began to cast in the earth. 

The grave was soon filled up. A little wooden cross 
was planted over it. 

In the midst of his sobs the doctor heard Jacques utter 
this cry of egoism — 

“Oh ! my youth, it is you they are burying.” 

Jacques belonged to a club styled the Water-drinkers, 
which seemed to have been founded in imitation of the 
famous one of the Rue des Quatre-Vent, which is treated 
of in that fine story Un Grand Homme dc Province.*’ 
Only there was a great difference between the heroes of 


236 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETEB. 

the latter circle and the Water-drinkers who, like all im- 
itators, had exaggerated the system they sought to put into 
practice. This difference will be understood by the fact 
that in De Balzac’s book the members of the club end by 
attaining the object they proposed to themselves, whilst 
after several years’ existence the club of the Water-drinkers 
was naturally dissolved by the death of all its members, 
without the name of anyone of them remaining attached 
to a work attesting their existence. 

During his union with Francine, Jacques’s intercourse 
with the Water-drinkers had become more broken. The 
necessities of life had obliged the artist to violate certain 
conditions solemnly signed and sworn by the Water- 
drinkers the day the club was founded. 

Perpetually perched on the stilts of an absurd pride, 
these young fellows had laid down as a sovereign prin- 
ciple in their association, that they must never abandon 
the lofty heights of art ; that is to say, that despite their 
mortal poverty, not one of them would make any con- 
cession to necessity. Thus the poet Melchior would never 
have consented to abandon what he called his lyre, to 
write a commercial prospectus or an electoral address. 
That was all very well for the poet Rodolphe, a good-for- 
nothing who was ready to turn his hand to anything, and 
who never let a five franc piece flit past him without try- 
ing to capture it, no matter how. The painter Lazare, a 
proud wearer of rags, would never have soiled his brushes 
by painting the portrait of a tailor holding a parrot on his 
forefinger, as our friend the painter Marcel had once done 
in exchange for that famous dress-coat nicknamed Me- 
thuselah, which the hands of each of his sweethearts had 
starred over with darns. All the while he had been living 
in communion of thought with the Water-drinkers, the 
sculptor Jacques had submitted to the tyranny of the club 
rules ; but when he made the acquaintance of Francine, 


THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUAKTER. 237 

he would not make the poor girl, already ill, share of 
the regimen he had accepted during his solitude. Jac- 
ques’s was above all an upright and loyal nature. He 
went to the president of the club, the exclusive Lazare, 
and informed him that for the future he would accept 
any work that would bring him in anything. 

“My dear fellow, your declaration of love is your artistic 
renunciation. We will remain your friends if you like, but 
we shall no longer be your partners. Work as you please, 
for me you are no longer a sculptor, but a plasterer. It 
is true that you may drink wine, but we who continue to 
drink our water, and eat our dry bread, will remain 
artists. ” 

Whatever Lazare might say about it, Jacques remained 
an artist. But to keep Francine with him he undertook, 
when he had a chance, any paying work. It is thus that 
he worked for a long time in the workshop of the orna- 
ment maker Romagnesi. Clever in execution and inge- 
nious in invention, Jacques, without relinquishing high art, 
might have achieved a high reputation in those figure 
groups that have become one of the chief elements in this 
commerce. But Jacques was lazy, like all true artists, and 
a lover after the fashion of poets. Youth in him had 
awakened tardily but ardent, and, with a presentiment 
of his approaching end, he had sought to exhaust it in 
Francine’s arms. Thus it often happened that good 
chances of work knocked at his door without Jacques 
answering, because he would have had to disturb himself, 
and he found it more comfortable to dream by the light 
of his beloved’s eyes. 

When Francine was dead the sculptor went to see his 
old friends the Water-drinkers again. But Lazare’s spirit 
predominated in this club, in which each of the members 
lived petrified in the egoism of art. Jacques did not find 
what he came there in search of. They scarcely under- 


238 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

stood his despair, which they strove to appease by argu- 
ment, and seeing this small degree of sympathy, Jacques 
preferred to isolate his grief rather than see it laid bare by 
discussion. He broke off, therefore, completely with the 
Water-drinkers and went away to live alone. 

Five or six days after Francine s funeral, Jacques went 
to a monumental mason of the Montparnasse cemetery 
and offered to conclude the following bargain with him. 
The mason was to furnish Francine’s grave with a border, 
which Jacques reserved the right of designing, and in 
addition to supply the sculptor with a block of white 
marble. In return for this Jacques would place himself 
for three months at his disposition, either as journeyman 
stone-cutter or sculptor. The monumental mason had then 
several important orders on hand. He visited Jacques’s 
studio, and in presence of several works begun there, 
had proof that the chance which gave him the sculp- 
tor’s services was a lucky one for him. A week later, 
Francine’s grave had a border, in the midst of which the 
wooden cross had been replaced by a stone one with her 
name graven on it. 

Jacques had luckily to do with an honest fellow who 
understood that a couple of hundredweight of cast-iron, 
and three square feet of Pyrenean marble, were no pay- 
ment for three months’ work by Jacques, whose talent had 
brought him in several thousand francs. He offered to 
give the artist a share in his business, but Jacques would 
not consent. The lack of variety in the subjects for treat- 
ment was repugnant to his inventive disposition, besides 
he had what he wanted, a large block of marble, from the 
recesses of which he wished to evolve a masterpiece 
destined for Francine’s grave. 

At the beginning of spring Jacques’s position improved. 
His friend the doctor put him in relation with a great 
foreign nobleman who had come to settle in Paris, and 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 239 

who was having a magnificent mansion built in one of the 
most fashionable districts. Several celebrated artists had 
been called in to contribute to the luxury of this little 
palace. A chimneypiece was commissioned from Jacques. 
I can still see his design, it was charming ; the whole 
poetry of winter was expressed in the marble that was to 
serve as a frame to the flames. Jacques's studio was too 
small, he asked for and obtained a room in the mansion, 
as yet uninhabited, to execute his task in. A fairly large 
sum was even advanced him on the price agreed on for 
his work. Jacques began by repaying his friend the doctor 
the money the latter had lent him at Francine’s death, 
then he hurried to the cemetery to cover the earth, beneath 
which his mistress slept, with flowers. 

But spring had been there before him, and on the girl's 
grave a thousand flowers were springing at hazard 
amongst the grass. The artist had not the courage to puli 
them up, for he thought that these flowers might perhaps 
hold something of his dead love. As the gardener asked 
him what was to be done with the roses and pansies he 
had brought with him, Jacques bade him plant them on a 
neighbouring grave, newly dug, the poor grave of some 
poor creature, without any border and having no other 
memorial over it than a piece of wood stuck in the ground 
and surmounted by a crown of flowers in blackened paper, 
the scant offering of some pauper's grief. Jacques left 
the cemetery in quite a different frame of mind to what he 
had entered it. He looked with happy curiosity at the 
bright spring sunshine, the same that had so often gilded 
Francine's locks when she ran about the fields culling wild 
flowers with her white hands. Quite a swarm of pleasant 
thoughts hummed in his heart. Passing by a little tavern 
on the outer Boulevard he remembered that one day, being 
caught by a storm, he had taken shelter there with Fran- 
cine, and that they had dined there. Jacques went in and 


240 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

had dinner served at the same table. His dessert was 
served on a plate with a pictorial pattern ; he recognized 
it and remembered that Francine had spent half an hour 
in guessing the rebus painted on it, and recollected, too, 
a song sung by her when inspired by the violet hued wine 
w’hich does not cost much and has more gaiety in it than 
grapes. But this flood of sweet remembrances recalled 
his love without re-awakening his grief. Accessible to 
superstition, like all poetical and dreamy intellects, Jacques 
fancied that it was Francine, who, hearing his step beside 
her, had wafted him these pleasant remembrances from 
her grave, and he would not damp them with a tear. He 
quitted the tavern with Arm step, erect head, bright eye, 
beating heart, and almost a smile on his lips, murmuring 
as he went along, the refrain of Francine s song — 

“ Love hovers round my dwelling, 

My door must open be.” 

This refrain in Jacques’ mouth was also a recollection, 
Out then it was already a song, and perhaps without sus- 
pecting it he took that evening the first step along the 
road which leads from sorrow to melancholy, and thence 
onward to forgetfulness. Alas ! whatever one may wish 
and whatever one may do the eternal and just law of 
change wills it so. 

Even as the flowers, sprung perhaps from P'rancine, had 
sprouted on her tomb the sap of youth stirred in the heart 
of Jacques, in which the remembrance of the old love 
awoke vague aspirations for new ones. Besides Jacques 
belonged to that race of artists and poets who make passion 
an instrument of art and poetry, and whose mind only 
shows activity in proportion as it is set in motion by the 
motive powers of the heart. With Jacques invention 'was 
really the daughter of sentiment, and he put something of 
himself into the smallest things he did. He perceived that 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LA"^IN QUARTER. 241 

souvenirs no longer sufficed him and that, like The millstone 
which wears itself away when corn runs short, his heart 
was wearing away for want of emotion. Work had no 
longer any charm for him, his power of invention, of yore 
feverish and spontaneous, now only awoke after much 
patient effort. Jacques was discontented, and almost 
envied the life of his old friends, the Water-drinkers. 

He sought to divert himself, held out his hand to pleasure, 
and made fresh acquaintances. He associated with the 
poet, Rodolphe, whom he had met at a cafe, and each felt 
a warm sympathy towards the other. Jacques explained 
his worries, and Rodolphe was not long in understanding 
their cause. 

“ My friend,'' said he ; “I know what it is," and tapping 
him on the chest just over the heart he added, “Quick, you 
must rekindle the fire there ; start a little love affair at 
once, and ideas will recur to you." 

“Ah ! " said Jacques, “ I loved Francine too dearly." 

“ It will not hinder you from still always loving her. 
You will embrace her on another's lips." 

“ Oh ! " said Jacques, “if I could only meet a girl who 
resembled her." 

And he left Rodolphe deep in thought. 

***** 

Six weeks later Jacques had recovered all his energy, 
rekindled by the tender glances of a young girl whose 
name was Marie, and whose somewhat sickly beauty 
recalled that of poor Francine. Nothing, indeed, could 
be prettier than this pretty Marie, who was within six 
weeks of being eighteen years of age, as she never failed 
to mention. Her love affair with Jacques had its birth by 
moonlight in the garden of an open-air ball, to the strains 
of a shrill violin, a grunting double bass, and a clarionet 
that trilled like a blackbird. Jacques met her one evening 
when gravely walking round the space reserved for the 


242 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEB. 

dancers. Seeing him pass stiffly in his eternal black coat 
buttoned to the throat, the pretty and noisy frequenters, 
of the place, who knew him by sight, used to say amongst 
themselves : 

‘ ‘ What is that undertaker doing here ? Is there any one 
who wants to be buried ? ” 

And Jacques walked on always alone, his heart bleed- 
ing within him from the thorns of a remembrance which 
the orchestra rendered keener by playing a lively quadrille 
which sounded to his ears as mournful as a De profundis. 
It was in the midst of this reverie that he noticed Marie, 
who was watching him from a corner, and laughing like 
a wild thing at his gloomy bearing. Jacques raised his 
eyes and saw this burst of laughter in a pink bonnet 
within three paces of him. He went up to her and made 
a few remarks, to which she replied. He offered her his 
arm for a stroll round the garden which she accepted. 
He told her that he thought her as beautiful as an angel, 
and she made him repeat it twice over ; he stole some 
green apples hanging from the trees of the garden for her, 
and she devoured them eagerly to the accompaniment of 
that ringing laugh which seemed the burden of her constant 
mirth. Jacques thought of the Bible, and thought that 
we should never despair as regards any woman, and still 
less as regards those who love apples. He took another 
turn round the garden with the pink bonnet, and it is 
thus that arriving at the ball alone he did not return from 
it so. 

However, Jacques had not forgotten Francine ; bearing 
in mind Rodolphe’s words he kissed her daily on Marie’s 
lips, and wrought in secret at the figure he wished to place 
on the dead girl’s grave. 

One day when he received some money Jacques bought 
a dress for Marie — a black dress. The girl was pleased, 
only she thought that black was not very lively for 


243 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

summer wear. But Jacques told her that he was very 
fond of black, and that she would please him by wearing 
this dress every day. Marie obeyed. 

One Saturday Jacques said to her : 

“Come early to-morrow ^ we will go into the country.” 

“ How nice ! ” said Marie ; “I am preparing a surprise 
for you. You shall see. It will be sunshiny to-morrow.” 

Marie spent the night at home finishing a new dress 
that she had bought out of her savings— a pretty pink 
dress. And on Sunday she arrived clad in her smart 
purchase at Jacques’s studio. 

The artist received her coldly, almost brutally. 

“I thought I should please you by making this bright 
toilette,” said Marie, who could not understand his cool- 
ness. 

“We cannot go into the country to-day,” replied he; 
“you had better be off. I have some work to-day.” 

Marie went home with a full heart. On the way she 
met a young man who was acquainted with Jacques’s 
story, and who had also paid court to herself 

“Ah! Mademoiselle Marie, so you are no longer in 
mourning.?” said he. 

“ In mourning ? ” said Marie. “ For whom ? 

“What, did you not know? It is pretty generally 
known, though. The black dress that Jacques gave 
you . ” 

“ Well, what of it ?” asked Marie. 

“ It was mourning. Jacques made you wear mourn- 
ing for Francine.” 

From that day Jacques saw no more of Marie. 

This rupture was unlucky for him. Evil days returned ; 
he had no more work, and fell into such a fearful state of 
wretchedness that, no longer knowing what would be- 
come of him, he begged his friend the doctor to obtain 
him admission to a hospital. The doctor saw at the first 


244 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEB. 

glance that this admission would not be difficult to obtain. 
Jacques, who did not suspect his condition, was on the 
way to rejoin Fran cine. 

He was admitted into the Saint Louis hospital. 

As he could still move about, Jacquesbeggedthesuper- 
intendent of the hospital to let him have a little unused 
room, and he had a stand, some tools, and some model- 
ling clay brought there. During the first fortnight he worked 
at the figure he intended for Francine’s grave. It was an an- 
gel with outspread wings. This figure, which was Fran- 
cine’s portrait, was never quite finished, for Jacques could 
soon no longer mount the stairs, and in a short time could 
not leave his bed. 

One day the order book fell into his hands, and seeing 
the things prescribed for himself, he understood that he 
was lost. He wrote to his family, and sent for Sister 
Sainte-Genevieve, who looked after him with charitable 
care. 

“ Sister,” said Jacques, “there is upstairs in the room 
that was lent me, a little plaster cast. This statuette, 
which represents an angel, was intended for a tomb, but 
I had not time to execute it in marble. Yes, I had a fine 
block — white marble with pink veins. Well, sister, I 
give you my little statuette for your chapel.” 

Jacques died a few days later. As the funeral took 
place on the very day of the opening of the annual ex- 
hibition of pictures, the Water-drinkers were not present. 
“ Art before all,” said Lazare. 

Jacques’s family was not a rich one, and he did not 
have a grave of his own. 

He is buried somewhere. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


245 


CHAPTER XIX. 

M U S E T T e’s fancies. 

It may, perhaps, be remembered how the painter Mar- 
cel sold the Jew Medicis his famous picture of ‘ ‘ The Pas- 
age of the Red Sea,” which was destined to serve as the 
sign of a provision dealer’s. On the morrow of this sale, 
which had been followed by a luxurious dinner stood by 
the Jew to the Bohemians as a clencher to the bargain, 
Marcel, Schaunard, Colline, and Rodolphe woke up very 
late. Still bewildered by the fumes of their intoxication 
of the day before, at first they no longer remembered 
what had taken place, and as noon rung out from a 
neighbouring steeple, they all looked at one another with 
a melancholy smile. 

“There goes the bell that piously summons humanity 
to refresh itself,” said Marcel. 

“ In point of fact,” replied Rodolphe, “ it is the solemn 
hour when honest folk enter their dining-room.” 

“ We must try and become honest folk,” murmured 
Colline, whose patron saint was Saint Appetite. 

“ Ah ! milk-jug of my nursery ! — ah ! four square meals 
of my childhood, what has become of you ?” said Schau- 
nard. “What has become of you ! ” he repeated, to a 
soft and melancholy tune. 

“ To think that at this hour there are in Paris more 
than a hundred thousand chops on the gridiron,” said 
Marcel. 

“ And as many steaks,” added Rodolphe. 

By an ironical contrast, whilst the four friends were 
putting to one another the terrible daily problem of how 
to get their breakfast, the waiters of a restaurant on the 


246 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


lower floor of the house kept shouting out the customers' 
orders. 

“ Will those scoundrels never be quiet?” said Marcel. 
“Every word is like the stroke of a pick, hollowing out 
my stomach.” 

“ The wind is in the north,” saidColline, gravely, point- 
ing to a weathercock on a neighbouring roof. “ We shall 
not breakfast to-day, the elements are opposed to it.” 

“ How so? ” inquired Marcel, 

“ It is an atmospheric phenomenon I have noted,” said 
the philosopher ; “a wind from the north almost always 
means abstinence, as one from the south usually means 
pleasure and good cheer. It is what philosophy calls a 
warning from above.” 

Gustave Colline’s fasting jokes were savage ones. 

At that moment Schaunard, who had plunged one of 
his hands into the abyss that served him as a pocket, 
withdrew it with a yell of pain. 

“ Help, there is something in my coat ! ” he cried, try- 
ing to free his hand, nipped fast in the claws of a live lob- 
ster. 

To the cry he had uttered another one replied. It 
came from Marcel, who, mechanically putting his hand 
into his pocket, had there discovered a silver mine that he 
had forgotten — that is to say, the hundred and fifty francs 
which the Jew Medicis had given him the day before in 
payment for “ The Passage of the Red Sea.” 

Memory returned at the same moment to the Bohe- 
mians. 

“ Bow down, gentlemen,” said Marcel, spreading out 
on the table a pile of five-franc pieces, amongst which 
glittered some new louis. 

“ One would think they were alive,” said Colline. 

“Sweet sounds!” said Schaunard, chinking the gold 
pieces together. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUABTER. 247 

“ How pretty these medals are ! ” said Rodolphe ; “one 
would take them for fragments of sunshine. If I were a 
king I would have no other small change, and would 
have them stamped with my mistress’s portrait.” 

“To think that there is a country where they are mere 
pebbles,” said Schaunard. ‘ ‘ The Americans used to give 
four of them for two sous. I had an ancestor who went 
to America; he was interred by the savages in their 
stomachs. It was a misfortune for the family.” 

“Ah! but where does this animal come from ?” en- 
quired Marcel, looking at the lobster which had begun to 
crawl about the room. 

“ I remember,” said Schaunard, “ that yesterday I took 
a turn in Medicis" kitchen. I suppose the reptile accident- 
ally fell into my pocket, these creatures are very short- 
sighted. Since I have got it,” added he, “I should like 
to keep it ; I will tame it and paint it red, it will look 
livelier. I am sad since Phemie’s departure ; it will be 
a companion to me.” 

“Gentlemen,” exclaimed Colline, “notice, I beg of 
you, that the weathercock has gone round to the south, 
we shall breakfast.” 

“I should think so,” said Marcel, taking up a gold piece, 
“here is something we will cook with plenty of sauce.” 

They proceeded to a long and serious discussion on 
the bill of fare. Each dish was the subject of an argu- 
ment and a vote. Omelette soufflee, proposed by Schau- 
nard, was anxiously rejected, as were white wines, 
against which Marcel delivered an oration that brought 
out his aenophilistic knowledge. 

“The first duty of wine is to be red,” exclaimed he, 
“don’t talk to me about your white wines.” 

“ But,” said Schaunard, “Champagne ” 

“Bah ! a fashionable cider I an epileptic licorice-water. 
I would give all the cellars of Epernay and Ai for a single 


248 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


Burgundian cask. Besides, we have neither grisettes to 
seduce, nor a vaudeville to write. I vote against Cham- 
pagne.’’ 

The programme once agreed upon, Schaunard and Col- 
line went to the neighbouring restaurant to order the repast. 

“Suppose we have some fire,” said Marcel. 

“As a matter of fact,” said Rodolphe, ‘‘we should not 
be doing wrong, the thermometer has been inviting us to 
it for some time past. Let us have some fire and aston- 
ish the fireplace.” 

He ran out on the landing and called to Colline to have 
some wood sent in. A few minutes later Schaunard and 
Colline came up again, followed by a charcoal dealer 
bearing a heavy bundle of firewood. 

As Marcel was looking in a drawer for some spare 
paper to light the fire, he came by chance across a letter, 
the handwriting of which made him start, and which he 
began to read unseen by his friends. 

It was a letter in pencil, written by Musette when she 
was living with Marcel, and dated day for day a year 
ago. It only contained these words : — 

“My dear love, 

“Do not be uneasy about me, I shall be in 
shortly. I have gone out to warm myself a bit by walk- 
ing, it is freezing indoors and the wood seller has cut off 
credit. I broke up the two last rungs of the chair, but they 
did not burn long enough to cook an egg by. Besides, 
the wind comes in through the window as if it were at 
home, and whispers a great deal of bad advice which it 
would vex you if I were to listen to. I prefer to go out a 
bit ; I shall take a look at the shops. They say that 
there is some velvet at ten francs a yard. It is incredible, 
I must see it. I shall be back for dinner. 


“Musette. ” 


THE BOHEMIANB OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 240 

“Poor girl/' said Marcel, putting the letter in his 
pocket. And he remained for a short time pensive, his 
head resting on his hands. 

At this period the Bohemians had been for some time 
in a state of widowhood, with the exception of Colline, 
whose sweetheart, however, had still remained invisible 
and anonymous. 

Phemie herself, Schaunard’s amiable companion, had 
met with a simple soul who had offered her his heart, a 
suite of mahogany furniture, and a ring with his hair — 
red hair — in it. However, a fortnight after these gifts 
Phemie’s lover wanted to take back his heart and his fur- 
niture, because he noticed on looking at his mistress's 
hands that she wore a ring set with hair, but black hair 
this time, and dared to suspect her of infidelity. 

Yet Phemie had not ceased to be virtuous, only as her 
friends had chaffed her several times about her ring with 
red hair, she had had it dyed black. The gentleman was 
pleased that he bought Phemie a silk dress ; it was the 
first she had ever had. The day she put it on for the first 
time the poor girl exclaimed : 

“Now I can die happy.” 

As to Musette, she had once more become almost an 
official personage, and Marcel had not met her for three 
or four months. As to Mimi, Rodolphe had not heard 
her even mentioned, save by himself when alone. 

“ Hallo ! ” suddenly exclaimed Rodolphe, seeing Mar- 
cel squatting dreamily beside the hearth, “won^t the fire 
light ? ” 

“There you are,” said the painter, setting light to the 
wood, which began to crackle and flame. 

Whilst his friends were sharpening their appetites by 
getting ready the feast, Marcel had again isolated himself 
in a corner and was putting the letter he had just found 
by chance away with some souvenirs that Musette had 


250 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

left him. All at once he remembered the address of a 
woman who was the intimate friend of his old love. 

“Ah!” he exclaimed, loud enough to be overheard, 
“ I know where to find her.” 

“Find what.^”‘ said Rodolphe. “What are you up 
to ? ” he added, seeing the artist getting ready to write. 

“Nothing, only an urgent letter I had forgotten,” re- 
plied Marcel ; and he wrote : — 

“ My dear girl, 

“I have wealth in my desk, an apoplectic stroke of 
fortune. We have a big feed simmering, generous wines, 
and have lit fires like respectable citizens. You should 
only just see it, as you used to say. Come and pass an 
hour with us. You will find Rodolphe, Colline and Schau- 
nard. You shall sing to us at dessert, for dessert will not 
be wanting. Whilst we are there we shall probably re- 
main at table for a week. So do not be afraid of being too 
late. It is so long since I heard you laugh. Rodolphe 
will compose madrigals to you, and we will drink all 
manner of things to our dead and gone loves, with liber- 
ty to resuscitate them. Between people like ourselves — 
the last kiss is never the last. Ah ! if it had not been so 
cold last year you might not have left me. You jilted 
me for a faggot and because you were afraid of having 
red hands ; you were right. I am no more vexed with 
you over it this time than over the others, but come and 
warm yourself whilst there is a fire. With as many kisses 
as you like, 

“ Marcel.” 

This letter finished, Marcel wrote a lother to Madame 
Sidonie, Musette’s friend, begging her to forward the one 
enclosed in it. Then he went downstairs to the porter to 
get him to take the letters. As he was paying him be- 
forehand, the porter noticed a gold coin in the painter’s 


Musette receives Marcel’s letter. 




THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUARTER. 251 

hand, and before starting on his errand went up to in- 
form the landlord, with whom Marcel was behind with 
his rent. 

‘‘Sir,’’ said he, quite out of breath, “the artist on the 
sixth floor has money. You know the tall fellow who 
laughs in my face when I take him his bill ? ” 

“Yes,” said the landlord, “the one who had the im- 
pudence to borrow money of me to pay me something on 
account with. He is under notice to quit.” 

“Yes, sir. But he is rolling in gold to-day. I caught 
sight of it just now. He is giving a party. It is a good 
time ” 

“You are right,” said the landlord; “I will go up 
and see for myself by-and-by.” 

Madame Sidonie, who was at home when Marcel's let- 
ter was brought, sent on her maid at once with the one 
intended for Musette. 

The latter was then residing in a charming suite of 
rooms in the Chauss^e d'Antin. At the moment Marcel's 
letter was handed to her, she had company, and, indeed, 
was going to give ar grand dinnerparty that evening. 

“Here is a miracle,” she exclaimed, laughing like a 
mad thing. 

“What is it ” asked a handsome young fellow, as stiff 
as a statuette. 

“ It is an invitation to dinner, ” replied the girl. ‘ ‘ How 
well it falls out.” 

“How badly,” said the young man. 

“Why so ? ” said Musette. 

“What, do you think of going? ” 

“I should think so. Arrange things as you please.” 

“But, my dear, it is not becoming. You can go 
another time. ” 

“Ah! that is very good, another time. It is an old 
acquaintance, Marcel, who invites me to dinner, and that 


252 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


is sufficiently extraordinary for me to go and have a look 
at it. Another time ! But real dinners in that house are 
as rare as eclipses.” 

“What, you would break your pledge to us to go and 
see this individual,” said the young man, “and you tell 
me so ” 

“Whom do you want me to tell it to, then ? To the 
Grand Turk ? It does not concern him.” 

‘ ‘ This is strange frankness. ” 

“You know very well that I do nothing like other 
people.” 

“But what would you think of me if 1 let you go, know- 
ing where you are going to ? Think a bit. Musette, it is 
very unbecoming both to you and myself ; you must ask 
this young fellow to excuse you ” 

“My dear Monsieur Maurice,” said Mademoiselle 
Musette, in very firm tones, “you knew me before you 
took up with me, you knew that I was full of whims and 
fancies, and that no living soul can boast of ever having 
made me give one up.” 

“Ask of me whatever you like,” said Maurice, “but 
this ! There are fancies and fancies.” 

“Maurice, I shall go and see Marcel. I am going,” 
she added, putting on her bonnet. “You may leave me 
if you like, but it is stronger than I am ; he is the best fel- 
low in the world, and the only one I have ever loved. If 
his head had been gold he would have melted it down to 
give me rings. Poor fellow,” said she, showing the let- 
ter, “see, as soon as he has a little fire, he invites me to 
come and warm myself. Ah ! if he had not been so idle, 
and if there had not been so much velvet and silk in the 
shops ! I was very happy with him, he had the gift of 
making me feel ; and it is he who gave me the name of 
Musette on account of my songs. At any rate, going to 
see him you may be sure that I shall return to you . , . 

unless you shut your door in my face.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 253 

^‘You could not more frankly acknowledge that you 
do not love me,” said the young man. 

“Come, my dear Maurice, you are too sensible a man 
for us to begin a serious argument on that point,” rejoined 
Musette. “You keep me like a fine horse in your stable 
— and I like you because I love luxury, noise, glitter, and 
festivity, and that sort of thing ; do not let us go in for 
sentiment, it would be useless and ridiculous.” 

“At least let me come with you.” 

“ But you would not enjoy yourself at all,” said 
Musette, “and would hinder us from enjoying ourselves. 
Remember that he will necessarily kiss me.” 

“ Musette,” said Maurice, “have you often found such 
accommodating people as myself.? ” 

“Viscount,” replied Musette, “one day when I was 

driving in the Champs Elysees with Lord 1 met Marcel 

and his friend Rodolphe, both on foot, both ill dressed, 
muddy* as water-dogs, and smoking pipes. I had not 
seen Marcel for three months, and it seemed to me as if 
my heart was going to jump out of the carriage window. 
I stopped the carriage, and for half an hour I chatted with 
Marcel before the whole of Paris, filing past in its carriages. 
Marcel offered me a sou bunch of violets that I fastened in 

my waistband. When he took leave of me Lord 

wanted to call him back to invite him to dinner with us. I 
kissed him for that. That is my way, my dear Monsieur 
Maurice. If it does not suit you you should say so at once, 
and I will take my slippers and my nightcap.” 

“It is sometimes a good thing to be poor, then,” said 
Vicomte Maurice, with a look of envious sadness. 

“No, not at all,” said Musette. “If Marcel had been 
rich I should never have left him.” 

“ Go, then,” said the young fellow, shaking her by the 
hand. “You have put your new dress on,” he added, “it 
becomes you splendidly. ” 


254 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“That is so," said Musette ; it is a kind of presentiment 
I had this morning. Marcel will have the first fruits of it. 
Good-bye, I am off to taste a little of the bread of gaiety." 

Musette was that day wearing a charming toilette ; never 
had the poem of her youth and beauty been set off by 
more seductive binding. Besides, Musette had the in- 
stinctive genius of taste. On coming into the world, the 
first thing she had looked about for had been a looking- 
glass to settle herself in her swaddling clothes by, and 
before being christened she had already been guilty of the 
sin of coquetry. At the time when her position was of 
the humblest, when she was reduced to cotton print frocks, 
little white caps and kid shoes, she wore in charming 
style this poor and simple uniform of the grisettes, those 
pretty girls, half bees, half grasshoppers, who sang at 
their work all the week, only asked God for a little sun- 
shine on Sunday, loved with all their heart, and sometimes 
threw themselves out of a window. 

A breed that is now lost, thanks to the present genera- 
tion of young fellows, a corrupted and at the same time 
corrupting race, but, above everything, vain, foolish and 
brutal. For the sake of uttering spiteful paradoxes, they 
chaffed these poor girls about their hands, disfigured by 
the sacred scars of toil, and as a consequence these soon 
no longer earned even enough to buy almond paste. By 
degrees they succeeded in inoculating them with their 
own foolishness and vanity, and then the grisette disap- 
peared. It was then that the lorette sprung up. A hybrid 
breed of impertinent creatures of mediocre beauty, half 
flesh, half paint, whose boudoir is a shop in which they 
sell bits of their heart like slices of roast beef. The ma- 
jority of these girls who dishonour pleasure, and are the 
shame of modern gallantry, are not always equal in intel- 
ligence to the very birds whose feathers they wear in their 
bonnets. If by chance they happen to feel, not love nor 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEK. 255 

even a caprice, but a commonplace desire, it is for some 
counter-jumping mountebank, whom the crowd surrounds 
and applauds at public balls, and whom the papers, cour- 
tiers of all that is ridiculous, render celebrated by their 
puffs. Although she was obliged to live in this circle 
Musette had neither its manners nor its ways, she had not 
the servile cupidity of those creatures who can only read 
Cocker and only write in figures. She was an intelligent 
and witty girl, with some drops of the blood of Mansu in 
her veins, and, rebellious to all yokes, she had never been 
able to help yielding to a fancy, whatever might be the 
consequences. 

Marcel was really the only man she had ever loved. 
He was at any rate the only one for whose sake she had 
really suffered, and it had needed all the stubbornness of 
the instincts that attracted her to all that glittered and jin- 
gled to make her leave him. She was twenty, and for her 
luxury was almost a matter existence. She might do with- 
out it for a time, but she could not give it up completely. 
Knowing her inconstancy, she had never consented to 
padlock her heart with an oath of fidelity. She had been 
ardently loved by many young fellows for whom she had 
herself felt a strong fancy, and she had always acted 
towards them with far-sighted probity ; the engagements 
into which she entered were simple, frank and rustic as 
the love-making of Moliere’s peasants. “You want me 
and I should like you too ; shake hands on it and let us 
enjoy ourselves.” A dozen times, if she had liked. Musette 
could have secured a good position, what is termed a 
future, but she did not believe in the future and professed 
the scepticism of Figaro respecting it. 

^ To-morrow,” she sometimes remarked, “ is an absurd- 
ity of the almanac, it is a daily pretext that men have in- 
vented in order to put off their business to-day. To-mor- 
row may be an earthquake. To-day, at any rate, we are 
on solid ground. ” 


256 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

One day a gentleman with whom she had stayed nearly 
six months, and who had become wildly in love with her, 
seriously proposed marriage. Musette burst out laughing 
in his face at this offer. 

“I imprison my liberty in the bonds of matrimony.? 
Never,” said she. 

‘*But I pass my time in trembling with fear of losing 
you. ” 

“It would be worse if I were your wife. Do not let us 
speak about that any more. Besides, I am not free,” she 
added ; thinking no doubt of Marcel. 

Thus she passed her youth, her mind caught by every 
straw blown by the breeze of fancy, causing the happi- 
ness of a great many and almost happy herself. Vicomte 
Maurice, under whose protection she then was, had a 
great deal of difficulty in accustoming himself to her un- 
tameable disposition, intoxicated with freedom, and it was 
with jealous impatience that he awaited the return of 
Musette after having seen her start off to Marcel’s. 

“Will she stay there?” he kept asking himself all the 
evening. 

“ Poor Maurice,” said Musette to herself on her side ; 
“he thinks it rather hard. Bah! young men must go 
through their training.” 

Then, her mind turning suddenly to other things, she 
began to think of Marcel to whom she was going, and 
whilst running over the recollections re-awakened by 
the name of her old adorer, asked herself by what miracle 
the table had been spread at his dwelling. She re-read, 
as she went along, the letter that the artist had written to 
her, and could not help feeling somewhat saddened by it. 
But this only lasted a moment. Musette thought aright, 
that it was less than ever an occasion for grieving, and as 
at that moment a strong wind sprung up she exclaimed : 

“It is funny, even if I did not want to go to Marcel’s 
the wind would blow me there.” 


One day a gentleman .... seriously proposed marriage. 




THE I50HEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUAKTEll. 257 

And she went on hurriedly, happy as a bird returning to 
its first nest. 

All at once snow began to fall heavily. Musette looked 
for a cab. She could not see one. As she happened to 
be in the very street in which dwelt her friend Madame 
Sidonie, the same who had sent o^n Marcel’s letter to her, 
Musette decided to run in for a few minutes till the weather 
cleared up sufficiently to enable her to continue her jour- 
ney. 

When Musette entered Madame Sidonie s rooms she 
found a gathering there. They were going on with a game 
of lansquenet that had lasted three days. 

“Do not disturb yourselves,” said Musette; “ I have 
only just popped in for a moment.” 

“You got Marcel’s letter all right ? ” whispered Madame 
Sidonie to her. 

“Yes, thanks,” replied Musette; “lam going to his 
place, he has asked me to dinner. Will you come with 
me ? You would enjoy yourself.” 

“ No, I can’t,” said Sidonie, pointing to the card-table ; 
“ think of my rent.” 

“There are six louis,” said the banker. 

“ I’ll go two of them,” exclaimed Madame Sidonie. 

“ I am not proud. I’ll start at two,” replied the banker, 
who had already dealt several times ; “ king, and ace. I 
am done for,” continued he, dealing the cards; ‘lam 
done for, all the kings are out.” 

“No politics,” said a journalist. 

“And the ace is the foe of my family,” continued the 
banker, who then turned up another king. “Long live 
the king ! My dear Sidonie, hand me over two louis.” 

“ Put them down,” said Sidonie, vexed at her loss. 

“That makes four hundred francs you owe me, little 
one,” said the banker ; “you would run it up to a thou- 
sand. I pass the deal.” 


7 


258 THE BOHEMIANS OE THE I.ATIN gUAKTER. 

Sidonie and Musette were chatting together in a low 
tone. The game went on. 

At about the same time the Bohemians were sitting 
down to table. During the whole of the repast Marcel 
seemed uneasy. Every time a step sounded on the stairs 
he started. 

“What is the matter ? ” asked Rodolphe of him ; “ one 
would think you were expecting some one. Are we not 
all here ? 

But at a look from the artist the poet understood his 
friend’s pre-occupation. 

“ True,” he thought, “ we are not all here.” 

Marcel’s look meant Musette, Rodolphe’s answering 
glance. Mi mi. 

“ We lack ladies,” said Schaunard, all at once. 

“ Confound it,” yelled Colline ; “ will you hold your 
tongue with your libertine reflections. It was agreed that 
we should not speak of love, it turns the sauces.” 

And the friends continued to drink fuller bumpers, whilst 
without the snow still fell, and on the hearth the logs 
flamed brightly, scattering sparks like fireworks. 

Just as Rodolphe was thundering out a song which he 
had found at the bottom of his glass, there came several 
knocks at the door. Marcel, torpid from incipient drunk- 
enness, leaped up from his chair, and ran to open it. 
Musette was not there. 

A gentleman appeared on the threshold ; he was not 
bad-looking, but his dressing-gown was wretchedly made. 
In his hand he held a slip of paper. 

“ I am glad to see you so comfortable, ” he said, look- 
ing at the table on which were the remains of a magnifi- 
cent leg of mutton. 

“The landlord ! ” cried Rodolphe ; “let us receive him 
with the honours due to his position ! ” and he commenced 
beating on his plate with his knife and fork. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


259 


Colline handed him a chair, and Marcel cried : 

“ Come, Schaunard ! pass us a clean glass. You are just 
in time,’' he continued to the landlord; “we are going 
to drink your health. My friend there. Monsieur Colline, 
was saying some touching things about you. As you 
are present, he will begin over again, out of compliment 
to you. Do begin again, Colline.” 

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” said the landlord; “ I don’t 

wish to trouble you, but ’’and he unfolded the paper 

which he had in his hand. 

“What’s the document?” asked Marcel. 

The landlord, who had cast an inquisitive glance around 
the room perceived some gold on the chimney-piece. 

“It is your receipt,” he said, hastily, “ which I had the 
honour of sending you once already.” 

“My faithful memory recalls the circumstance,” replied 
the artist. “It was on Friday, the eighth of the month, 
at a quarter past twelve.” 

“It is signed, you see, in due form,” said the land- 
lord ; “ and if it is agreeable to you* ” 

“I was intending to call upon you,” interrupted 
Marcel. “ I have a great deal to talk to you about.” 

‘ ‘ At your service. ” 

“Oblige me by taking something,” continued the 
painter, forcing a glass of wine on the landlord. “Now, 
sir,” he continued, “you sent me lately a little paper, 
with a picture of a lady and a pair of scales on it. It was 
signed Godard.” 

“The lawyer’s name.” 

“ He writes a very bad hand ; I had to get my friend 
here, who understands all sorts of hieroglyphics and 
foreign languages” — and he pointed to Colline — “to 
translate it for me.” 

“It was a notice to quit ; a precautionary measure, ac- 
cording to the rule in such cases.” 


260 


a'HE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


“Exactly. Now I wanted to have a talk with you 
about this very notice, for which I should like to substitute 
a lease. This house suits me. The staircase is clean, 
the street gay, and some of my friends live near ; in 
short, a thousand reasons attach me to these premises.’' 

“But,” and the landlord unfolded his receipt again, 
“there is the last quarter’s rent to pay.” 

“We shall pay it, sir. Such is our fixed intention.” 

Nevertheless, the landlord kept his eye glued to the 
money on the mantel-piece ; and such was the steady 
pertinacity of his gaze that the coins seemed to move 
towards him of themselves. 

“I am happy to have come at a time when, without 
inconveniencing yourself, you can settle this little affair,” 
he said, again producing his receipt to Marcel, who, not 
being able to parry the assault, again avoided it. 

“You have some property in the provinces, I think,” he 
said. 

“Very little, very little. A small house and farm in 
Burgundy ; very trifling returns ; the tenants pay so 
badly, and therefore,” he added, pushing forward his 
receipt again, “ this small sum comes just in time. Sixty 
francs, you know.” 

“Yes,” said Marcel, going to the mantel-piece and tak- 
ing up three pieces of gold. “Sixty, sixty it is,” and he 
placed the money on the table just out of the landlord’s 
reach. 

“ At last,” thought the latter. His countenance lighted 
up, and he too laid down his receipt on the table. 

Schaunard, Colline, and Rodolphe looked anxiously on. 

^‘Well, sir,” quoth Marcel, “since you are a Burgun- 
dian, you will not be sorry to see a countryman of yours.’’ 
He opened a bottle of old Macon, and poured out a 
bumper. 

“Ah! perfect,” said the landlord. ‘^Really, I never 
tasted better. ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. 261 

uncle of mine who lives there, sends me a hamper 
or two occasionally.” 

The landlord rose, and was stretching out his hand 
tow'ards the money, when Marcel stopped him again. 

“You will not refuse another glass.? ” said he, pouring 
one out. 

The landlord did not refuse. He drank the second 
glass, and was once more attempting to possess himself 
of the money, when Marcel called out : 

“ Stop ! I have an idea. I am rather rich just now, for 
me. My uncle in Burgundy has sent me something over 
my usual allowance. Now I may spend this money too 
fast. Youth has so many temptations, you know. There- 
fore, if it is all the same to you, I will pay a quarter in 
advance.” He took sixty francs in silver and added them 
to the three louis which were on the table. 

‘ ‘ Then I will give you a receipt for the present quarter,” 
said the landlord. “I have some blank ones in my 
pocket-book. I will fill it up and date it ahead. After 
all,” thought he, devouring the hundred and twenty francs 
with his eyes, “this tenant is not so bad.” 

Meanwhile, the other three Bohemians, not understand- 
ing Marcel’s diplomacy, remained utterly stupefied. 

“But this chimney smokes, which is very disagree- 
able.” 

“Why didn’t you tell me before ? I will send the work- 
men in to-morrow,” answered the landlord, not wishing 
to be behindhand in this contest of good offices. He 
filled up the second receipt, pushed the two over to Mar- 
cel, and stretched out his hand once more towards the 
heap of money. “You don't know how timely this sum 
comes in,” he continued, “1 have to pay some bills tor 
repairs, and was really quite short of cash ” 

“Very sorry to have made you wait.” 

“ Oh ! it’s no matter now. Permit me ’’—and out went 
his hand again. 


262 THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“ Permit me/’ said Marcel ; “we haven’t finished with 
this yet. You know the old saying, ‘ when the wine is 

drawn ’” and he filled the landlord’s glass a third 

time. 

“ One must drink it,” remarked the other, and he did 
so. 

“ Exactly,” said the artist, with a wink at his friends, 
who now understood what he was after. 

The landlord’s eyes began to twinkle strangely. He 
wriggled on his chair, began to talk loosely, in all senses 
of the word, and promised Marcel fabulous repairs and 
embellishments. 

“ Bring up the big guns,” said the artist aside to the 
poet. 

Rodolphe passed along a bottle of rum. 

After the first glass the landlord sang a ditty, which 
absolutely made Schaunard blush. 

After the second, he lamented his conjugal infelicity. 
His wife’s name being Helen, he compared himself to 
Menelaus. 

After the third, he had an attack of philosophy, and 
threw up such aphorisms as these : 

“ Life is a river.” 

“Happiness depends not on wealth.” 

“Man is a transitory creature. ” 

“Love is a pleasant feeling.” 

Finally, he made Schaunard his confidant, and related 
to him how he had “put into mahogany ” a damsel 
named Euphemia. Of this young person and her loving 
simplicity he drew so detailed a portrait, that Schaunard 
began to be assailed by a fearful suspicion, which sus- 
picion was reduced to a certainty when the landlord 
showed him a letter. 

“ Cruel woman ! ” cried the musician, as he beheld the 
signature ; “ it is like a dagger in my heart.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN OUAllTEll. 

“What is the matter!” exclaimed the Bohemians, 
astonished at this language. 

“ See,” said Schaunard, “this letter is from Phemie ; 
see the blot that serves her for a signature.” 

And he handed round the letter of his ex-mistress, which 
began with the words “ My dear old pet.” 

“ I am her dear old pet,” said the landlord, vainly try- 
ing to rise from his chair. 

‘ ‘ Good,” said Marcel, who was watching him, “he has 
cast anchor.” 

“Phemie, cruel Phemie,” murmured Schaunard, “you 
have wounded me deeply.” 

“ I have furnished a little apartment for her at 12, Rue 
Coquenard,” said the landlord; “pretty, very pretty ; 
it cost me lots of money. But such love is beyond price ; 
and I have twenty thousand francs a year. She asks me 
for money in her letter. Poor little dear, she shall have 
this,” and he stretched out his hand for the money — 
“hallo! where is it.?” he added in astonishment, feeling 
on the table. The money had disappeared. 

“ It is impossible for a moral man to become an ac- 
complice in such wickedness,” said Marcel. “ My con- 
science forbids me to pay money to this old profligate ; I 
shall not pay my rent, but my conscience will at any rate 
be clear. What morals, and in a bald-headed man too.” 

By this time the landlord was completely gone, and 
talked at random to the bottles. He had been there 
nearly two hours, when his wife, alarmed at his pro- 
longed absence, sent the maid after him. On seeing her 
master in such a state, she set up a shriek, and asked 
“ what they had been doing to him ? ” 

“ Nothing,” answered Marcel ; “he came a few min- 
utes ago to ask for the rent. As we had no money we 
begged for time.” 

“But he’s been and got drunk,” said the servant. 


2G4 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTEB. 

“Very likely,'' replied Rodolphe : “most of that was 
done before he came here. He told us that he had been 
arranging his cellar.” 

“ And he had so completely lost his head,” added Col- 
line, “that he wanted to leave the receipt without the 
money.” 

“Give these to his wife,” said Marcel, handing over 
the receipts; “we are honest folk, and do not wish to 
take advantage of his condition.” 

“Good heavens! what will madame say.'*” exclaimed 
the maid, leading, or rather dragging off her master, who 
had a very imperfect idea of the use of his legs. 

“So much for him I ” ejaculated Marcel. 

“ He has smelt money,” said Rodolphe ; “ he will come 
again to-morrow.” 

“When he does, I will threaten to tell his wife about 
Phemie, and he will give us time enough.” 

When the landlord had been got outside, the four friends 
went on smoking and drinking. Marcel alone retained 
a glimmer of lucidity in his intoxication. From time to 
time, at the slightest sound on the staircase, he ran and 
opened the door. But those who were coming up always 
halted at one of the lower landings, and then the artist 
would slowly return to his place by the fireside. Mid- 
night struck, and Musette had not come. 

“After all,” thought Marcel, “perhaps she was not in 
when my letter arrived. She will find it when she gets 
home to-night, and she will come to-morrow. We shall 
still have a fire. It is impossible for her not to come. 
To-morrow.” 

And he fell asleep by the fire. 

At the very moment that Marcel fell asleep dreaming of 
her Mademoiselle Musette was leaving the residence of 
her friend Madame Sidonie, where she had been staying 
up till then. Musette was not alone ; a young man accom- 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 265 

panied her. A carriage was waiting at the door ; they 
got into it and went off at full speed. 

The game at lansquenet was still going on in Madame 
Sidonie’s room. 

“Where is Musette?” said some one all at once. 

“ Where is young Seraphin ? ” said another. 

Madame Sidonie began lo laugh. 

“They have just gone off together,” said she. “ It is 
a funny story. What a strange being Musette is. Just 
fancy . . . .” and she informed the company how Mu- 
sette, after almost quarreling with Vicomte Maurice and 
starting off to find Marcel, had stepped in there by chance 
and met with young Seraphin. 

“ I suspected something was up,^’ she continued. “ I 
had an eye on them all the evening ; he is very sharp, 
that youngster. In short, they have gone off on the quiet, 
and it would take a sharp one to catch them up. All the 
same, it is very funny when one thinks how fond Mu- 
sette is of her Marcel.” 

“If she is so fond of him, what is the use of Seraphin, 
almost a lad, and who has never had a mistress ? ” said a 
young fellow. 

“She wants to teach him to read, perhaps,” said the 
journalist, who was very stupid when he had been 
losing. 

“All the same,” said Sidonie, “what does she want 
with Seraphin when she is in love with Marcel ? That is 
what gets over me.” 

For five days the Bohemians went on leading the 
happiest life in the world without stirring out. They 
remained at table from morning till night. An admired 
disorder reigned in the room which was filled with a 
Pantagruelic atmosphere. On a regular bed of oyster- 
shells reposed an army of empty bottles of every size and 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 




shape. The table was laden with fragments of every 
description, and a forest of wood blazed in the fireplace. 

On the sixth day Colline, who was director of cer- 
emonies, drew up, as was his wont every morning, 
the bill of fare for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and supper, 
and submitted it to the approval of his friends, who each 
initialled it in token of approbation. 

But when Colline opened the drawer that served as a 
cashbox, in order to take the money necessary for the 
day's consumption, he started back and became as pale 
as Banquo's ghost. 

“What is the matter?” inquired the others, carelessly. 

“The matter is that there are only thirty sous left,'' 
replied the philosopher. 

“The deuce; that will cause some modification in our 
bill of fare. Well, after all, thirty sous carefully laid 

out All the same it will be difficult to run to truffles,” 

said the others. 

A few minutes later the table was spread. There were 
three dishes most symmetrically arranged — a dish of 
herrings, a dish of potatoes, and a dish of cheese. 

On the hearth smouldered two little brands as big as 
one’s fist. 

Snow was still falling without. 

The four Bohemians sat down to table and gravely 
unfolded their napkins. 

“It is strange,” said Marcel, “ this herring has a flavour 
of pheasant. ” 

“That is due to the way in which I cooked it,^’ replied 
Colline ; “ the herring has never been properly appre- 
ciated. ” 

At that moment a joyous song rose on the staircase, and 
a knock came at the door. Marcel, who had not been 
able to help shuddering, ran to open it. 

Musette threw her arms round his neck and held him in 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 267 

an embrace for five minutes. Marcel felt her tremble in 
his arms. 

“ What is the matter ? ” he asked. 

“I am cold/' said. Musette, mechanically drawing near 
the fireplace. 

“Ah,’’ said Marcel, “ and we had such a rattling good 
fire.” 

“Yes,” said Musette, glancing at the remains of the 
five days’ festivity, “ I have come too late.” 

‘ ‘ Why ? ” said Marcel. 

“Why.? ” said Musette, blushing slightly. 

She sat down on Marcel’s knee. Shejvas still shivering, 
and her hands were blue. 

“You were not free, then,” whispered Marcel. 

“ I ! not free ! ” exclaimed the girl. “ Ah ! Marcel, if I 
were seated amongst the stars in Paradise and you made 
me a sign to come down to you I should do so. I ! not 
free ! ” 

She began to shiver again. 

“ There are five chairs here,” said Rodolphe, “ which is 
an odd number, without reckoning that the fifth is of a 
ridiculous shape. ” 

And breaking the chair against the wall, he threw the 
fragments into the fireplace. The fire suddenly burst forth 
again in a bright and merry flame, then making a sign to 
Colline and Schaunard, the poet took them off with him. 

“Where are you going.? ” asked Marcel. 

“To buy some tobacco,” they replied. 

“At Havanna,” added Schaunard, with a sign of 
intelligence to Marcel, who thanked him with a look. 

“Why did you not come sooner? ” he asked Musette, 
when they were alone together. 

“It is true, I am rather behindhand.” 

“ Five days to cross the Pont Neuf. You must have 
gone round by the Pyrenees ? ” 


268 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETER. 

Musette bowed her head and was silent. 

‘‘ Ah, naughty girl,” said the artist, sadly, tapping his 
hand lightly on his mistress’s breast, ‘‘what have you 
got inside here ? ” 

“ You know very well,” she retorted quickly. 

“ But what have you been doing since I wrote to you ? ” 

“Do not question me,” said Musette, kissing him 
several times. “ Do not ask me anything, but let me 
warm myself beside you. You see I put on my best dress 
to come. Poor Maurice, he could not understand it when 
I set off to come here, but it was stronger than myself, so 
I started. The fire is nice,” she added, holding out her 
little hand to the flames, ‘ ‘ I will stay with you till to- 
morrow if you like.” 

“ It will be very cold here,” said Marcel, “ and we have 
nothing for dinner. You have come too late,” he repeated. 

“ Ah ! bah ! ” said Musette ; “it will be all the more 
like old times.” 

* sje 

Rodolphe, Colline, and Schaunard took twenty-four 
hours to get their tobacco. When they returned to the 
house Marcel was alone. 

After an absence of six days Vicomte Maurice saw 
Musette return. 

He did not in any way reproach her, and only asked 
her why she seemed sad. 

I quarrelled with Marcel,” said she; “we parted 
badly.” 

“ And yet, who knows,” said Maurice, “ but you will 
again return to him.” 

“ What would you ? ” said Musette. “ I need to breathe 
the air of that life from time to time. My life is like 
a song, each of my loves is a verse, but Marcel is the 
refrain. ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


269 


CHAPTER XX. 

MIMI IN FINE FEATHER. 

** No, no, no, you are no longer Lisette ! No, no, no, 
you are no longer Mimi. You are, to-day, my lady the 
viscomtess, the day after to-morrow you may, perhaps, 
be your grace the duchess, for you have put your foot on 
the staircase of greatness ; the doorway of your dreams 
has at length been thrown wide open before you, and you 
have passed through it victorious and triumphant. I felt 
certain you would end by doing so, some night or other. 
It was bound to be ; besides, your white hands were 
made for idleness, and for a long time past have called 
for the ring of some aristocratic alliance. At length you 
have a coat of arms. But, we still prefer the one which 
youth gave to your beauty, when your blue eyes and 
your pale face seemed to quarter azure on a lily field. 
Noble or serf, you are ever charming, and I readily rec- 
ognized you when you passed by in the street the other 
evening, with rapid and well-shod foot, aiding the wind 
with your gloved hand in lifting the skirts of your new 
dress, partly in order not to let it be soiled, but a great 
deal more in order to show your embroidered petticoats 
and open worked stockings. You had on a wonderful 
bonnet, and even seemed plunged in deep perplexity on 
the subject of the veil of costly lace which floated over 
this bonnet. A very serious trouble indeed, for it was a 
question of deciding which was best and most advanta- 
geous to your coquetry, to wear this veil up or down. By 
wearing it down, you risked not being recognized by 
those of your friends whom you might meet, and who 


270 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTER. 

certainly would have passed by you ten times without 
suspecting that this costly envelope hid Mademoisellf" 
Mimi. On the other hand, by wearing this veil up, it was 
it that risked escaping notice, and in that case, what was 
the good of having it? You had cleverly solved the diffi- 
culty by alternately raising and lowering at every tenth 
step ; this wonderful tissue, woven, no doubt, in that 
country of spiders, called Flanders, and which of itself 
alone cost more than the whole of your former wardrobe. 

“Ah, Mimi! Forgive me — I should say, ah, vicom- 
tesse ! I was quite right, you see, when I said to you : 
‘ Patience, do not despair ; the future is big with cashmere 
shawls, glitteringjewels, supper parties, and the like.’ You 
would not believe me, incredulous one. Well, my predic- 
tions are, however, realized, and I am worth as much, 
I hope, as your ‘Ladies’ Oracle,’ a little octavo sorcerer 
you bought for five sous at a bookstall on the Pont Neuf, 
and which you wearied with eternal questions. Again, I 
ask, was I not right in my prophecies ; and would you 
believe me now, if I tell you that you will not stop at 
this? If I told you that listening, I can hear faintly in 
the depths of your future, the tramp and neighing of the 
horses harnessed to a blue brougham, driven by a pow- 
dered coachman, who lets down the steps, saying, ‘Where 
to, madam ? ’ Would you believe me if I told you, too, 
that later on — ah, as late as possible, I trust — attaining 
the object of a long cherished ambition, you will have a 
table d’hote at Belleville or Batignolles, and will be 
courted by the old soldiers and by-gone dandies who will 
come there to play lansquenet or baccarat on the sly ? 
But, before arriving at this period, when the sun of your 
youth shall have already declined, believe me, my dear 
child, you will wear out many yards of silk and velvet, 
many inheritances, no doubt, will be melted down in the 
crucibles of your fancies, many flowers will fade about 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 271 

your head, many beneath your feet, and you will change 
your coat of arms many times. On your head will 
glitter in turn the coronets of baroness, countess, and 
marchioness, you will take for your motto, ‘Inconstancy,’ 
and you will, according to caprice or necessity, satisfy 
each in turn, or even all at once, all the numerous adorers 
who will range themselves in the ante-chamber of your 
heart as people do at the door of a theatre at which a 
popular piece is being played. Go on, then, go straight 
onward, your mind lightened of recollections which have 
been replaced by ambition ; go, the road is broad, and we 
hope it will long be smooth to your feet, but we hope, 
above all, that all these sumptuosities, these fine toilet- 
tes, may not too soon become the shroud in which your 
liveliness will be buried.” 

Thus spoke the painter Marcel to Mademoiselle Mimi, 
whom he had met three or four days after her second 
divorce from the poet Rodolphe. Although he was 
obliged to veil the raillery with which he besprinkled her 
horoscope. Mademoiselle IVIimi was not the dupe of 
Marcel's fine words, and understood perfectly well that 
with little respect for her new title, he was chaffing her to 
fits. 

“ You are cruel towards me, Marcel,” said Mademoiselle 
Mimi, “and it is wrong. I was always very friendly 
with you when I was Rodolphe's mistress, and if I have 
left him, it was, after all, his fault. It was he who packed 
me off in a hurry, and, besides, how did he behave to me 
during the last few days I spent with him. I was very 
unhappy, I can tell you. You do not know what a man 
Rodolphe was ; a mixture of anger and jealousy, who 
killed me by bits. He loved me, I know, but his love 
was as dangerous as a loaded gun. What a life I led for 
six months. Ah, Marcel ! I do not want to make myself 
out better than I am, but I suffered a great deal with Ro- 


272 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

dolphe ; you know it too, very well. It is not poverty that 
made me leave him ; no, I assure you I had grown accus- 
tomed to it, and I repeat it was he who sent me away. 
He trampled on my self-esteem ; he said to me that I had 
no spirit if I stayed with him ; he told me that he no 
longer loved me ; that I must get another lover ; he even 
went so far as to indicate a young man who was courting 
me, and by his taunts he served to bring me and this 
young man together. I went with him as much out of 
spite as from necessity, for I did not love him ; you know 
very well yourself that I do not care for such very young 
fellows ; they are as wearisome and sentimental as har- 
monicas. Well, what is done is done. I do not regret 
it, and I would do the same over again. Now that he no 
longer has me with him, and knows me to be happy with 
another, Rodolphe is furious and very unhappy. I know 
someone who met him the other day, his eyes were quite 
red. That does not astonish me. I felt quite sure it 
would come to this, and that he would run after me ; but 
you can tell him that he will only lose his time, and that 
this time it is quite in earnest and for good. Is it long 
since you saw him, Marcel ; and is it true that he is much 
altered ? '' inquired Mimi in quite another tone. 

He is greatly altered indeed,” replied Marcel. 

“ He is grieving, that is certain, but what am I to do? 
So much the worse for him, he would have it so. It had 
to come to an end somehow. Try to console him.” 

“Oh ! ” answered Marcel quickly, “ the worst of the job 
is over. Do not disturb yourself about it, Mimi.” 

“You are not telling the truth, my dear fellow,” said 
Mimi, with an ironical little pout. “Rodolphe will not be 
so quickly consoled as all that. If you knew what a state 
he was in the night before I left. It was a Friday. I 
would not stay that night at my new lover’s because I am 
superstitious, and Friday is an unlucky day.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 273 

“You are wrong. Mimi, in love affairs Friday is a 
lucky day, the ancients called it Dies Veneris.” 

“ I do not know Latin,” said Mademoiselle Mimi, con- 
tinuing her narration. “I was coming back then from 
Pauls and found Rodolphe waiting for me in the street. 
It w^as late, past midnight, and I was hungry for I had 
had no dinner. I asked Rodolphe to go and get some- 
thing for supper. He came back half an hour later. He 
had run about a great deal to get nothing worth speaking 
of : some bread, wine, sardines, cheese and an apple tart. 
I had gone to bed during his absence, and he laid the 
table beside the bed. I pretended not to notice him, but 
I could see him plainly ; he was pale as death, he shud- 
dered and walked about the room like a man who does 
not know what he wants to do. He noticed several pack- 
ages of clothes on the floor in one corner. The sight of 
them seemed to annoy him, and he placed the screen in 
front of them in order not to see them. When all was 
ready we began to sup, he tried to make me drink, but I 
was no longer hungry or thirsty, and my heart was quite 
full. He was cold, for we had nothing to make a fire of, 
and one could hear the wind whistling in the chimney. It 
was very sad. Rodolphe looked at me, his eyes were fixed ; 
he put his hand in mine and I felt it tremble, it was burn- 
ing and icy all at once. ‘ This is the funeral supper of 
our loves,’ he said to me in a low tone. I did not answer, 
but I had not the courage to withdraw my hand from his. 

‘ I am sleepy,’ said I at last, ‘ it is late, let us go to sleep.’ 
Rodolphe looked at me, I had tied one of his handkerchiefs 
about my head on account of the cold, he took it off with- 
out saying a word. ‘Why do you want to take that off?’ 
said I. ‘ I am cold.’ ‘ Oh ! Mimi,’ said he, ‘ I beg of you, it 
will not matter to you, to put on your little striped cap for 
to-night.' It was a nightcap of striped cotton, white and 
brown. Rodolphe was very fond of seeing me in this cap ; 


274 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

it reminded him of several nights of happiness, for that was 
how vve counted our happy days. When I thought it was 
the last time that I should sleep beside him I dared not 
refuse to satisfy this fancy of his. I got up and hunted 
out my striped cap that was at the bottom of one of my 
packages. 

' • Out of forgetfulness I forgot to replace the screen. Ro- 
dolphe noticed it and hid the packages just as he had 
already done before. ‘Good-night,' said he. ‘Good- 
night,' I answered. I thought that he was going to kiss 
me and I should not have hindered him, but he only took 
my hand, which he carried to his lips. You know, Mar- 
cel, how fond he was of kissing my hands. I heard his 
teeth chatter and I felt his body as cold as marble. He 
still held my hand and he laid his head on my shoulder, 
which was soon quite wet. Rodolphe was in a fearful 
state. He bit the sheets to avoid crying out, but I could 
plainly hear his stifled sobs and I still felt his tears flow- 
ing on my shoulder, which was first scalded and then 
chilled. At that moment I needed all my courage, and I 
did need it, I can tell you. I had only to say a word, I 
had only to turn my head, and my lips would have met 
those of Rodolphe, and we should have made it up once 
more. Ah ! for a moment I really thought that he was 
going to die in my arms, or that at least he would go 
mad, as he almost did once before, you remember ? 1 felt 
I was going to yield, I was going to recant first, I was 
going to clasp him in my arms, for really one must have 
been utterly heartless to remain insensible to such grief. 
But I recollected the words he had said the day before, 

‘ You have no spirit if you stay with me, for 1 no longer 
love you.’ Ah ! as I recalled those bitter words I would 
have seen Rodolphe ready to die, and if it had only needed 
a kiss from me to save him, I would have turned away my 
lips and let him perish. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN OUARTEB. 275 

At last, overcome by fatigue, I sank into a half-sleep. 
I .could still hear Rodolphe sobbing, and 1 can swear to 
you, Marcel, that this sobbing went on all night long, and 
that when day broke and I saw in the bed, in which I had 
slept for the last time, the lover whom I was going to leave 
for another’s arms, I was terribly frightened to see the 
havoc wrought by this grief on Rodolphe’s face. He got 
up, like myself, without saying a word, and almost fell flat 
at the first steps he took, he was so weak and downcast. 
However, he dressed himself very quickly, and only asked 
me how matters stood and when I was going to leave. I 
told him that I did not know. He went off without bidding 
good-bye or shaking hands. That is how we separated. 
What a blow it must have been to his heart no longer to 
find me there on coming home, eh ? ” 

“I was there when Rodolphe came in,” said Marcel to 
Mimi, who was out of breath from speaking so long. “ As 
he was taking his key from the landlady, she said, ‘The 
little one has left.’ ‘ Ah ! ’ replied Rodolphe ; ‘ I am not 
astonished, I expected it.’ And he went up to his room, 
whither I followed him, fearing some crisis, but nothing 
occurred. ‘As it is too late to go and hire another room 
this evening we will do so to-morrow morning, ’said he, 

‘ we will go together. Now let us see after some din- 
ner I thought that he wanted to get drunk, but I was 
wrong. We dined very quietly at a restaurant where you 
have sometimes been with him. I had ordered some 
Beaune to stupefy Rodolphe a bit. ‘This was Mimi’s 
favorite wine,’ said he, ‘we have often drank it together 
at this very table. I remember one day she said to me, 
holding out her glass, which she had already emptied sev- 
eral times, “Fill up again, it is good for one’s bones.” 
A poor pun, eh ? worthy, at the most, of the mistress of a 
farce-writer. Ah ! she could drink pretty fairly.’ 

“Seeing that he was inclined to stray along the path 


27G THE HOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETER. 

of recollection I spoke to him about something else, and 
then it was no longer a question of you. He spent the 
whole evening with me and seemed as calm as the Medi- 
terranean. But what astonished me most was, that this 
calmness was not at all affected. It was genuine indiffer- 
ence. At midnight we went home. ‘ You seem surprised 
at my coolness in the position in which I find myself,’ said 
he to me, ‘ well, let me point out a comparison to you, my 
dear fellow, if it is commonplace it has, at least, the merit 
of being accurate. My heart is like a cistern the tap of 
which has been turned on all night, in the morning not a 
drop of water is left. My heart is really the same. Last 
night I wept away all the tears that were left me. It is 
strange, but I thought myself richer in grief, and yet by a 
single night of suffering I am ruined, cleaned out. On my 
word of honour it is as I say. Now, in the very bed in 
which I all but died last night beside a woman who was 
no more moved than a stone, I shall sleep like a dock- 
labourer after a hard day’s work, whilst she rests her head 
on the pillow of another.’ ‘ Humbug,’ I thought to my- 
self, ‘ I shall no sooner have left him than he will be dash- 
ing his head against the wall.’ However, I left Rodolphe 
alone and went up to my own room, but I did not go to 
bed. At three in the morning I thought I heard a noise 
in Rodolphe’s room, and I went down in a hurry, thinking 
to find him in a desperate fever.” 

Well?” said Mimi. 

“Well, my dear, Rodolphe was sleeping, the bed- 
clothes were quite in order and everything proved that he 
had soon fallen asleep, and that his slumbers had been 
calm.” 

“ It is possible,” said Mimi, “he was so worn out by 
the night before, but the next day?” 

“The next day Rodolphe came and roused me up early 
and we went and took rooms in another house, into 
which we moved the same evening.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAIITER. 277 

‘‘And/' asked Mimi, ‘'what did he do on leaving the 
room we had occupied, what did he say on abandoning 
the room in which he had loved me so ? " 

“He packed up his things quietly," replied Marcel, 
“and as he found in a drawer a pair of thread gloves 
you had forgotten, as well as two or three of your let- 
ters ” 

“ I know," said Mimi, in a tone which seemed to im- 
ply, “I forgot them on purpose, so that he might have 
some souvenir of me left ! What did he do with them ? " 
she added. 

“If I remember rightly," said Marcel, “he threw the 
letters into the fireplace, and the gloves out of the win- 
dow, but without any theatrical effort, and quite naturally, 
as one does when one wants to get rid of something use- 
less." 

“ My dear Monsieur Marcel, I assure ycu that from the 
bottom of my heart I hope that this indiffeience may last. 
But, once more, in all sincerity, I do not believe in such a 
speedy cure ; and, in spite of all you tell me, I am con- 
vinced that my poet’s heart is broken." 

“That may be," replied Marcel, taking leave of Mimi, 
“ but unless I am very much mistaken the pieces are still 
good for something. " 

During this colloquy in a public thoroughfare, Vicomte 
Paul was awaiting his new mistress, who was behind- 
hand in her appointment, and decidedly disagreeable 
towards him. He seated himself at her feet and warbled 
his favourite strain, namely, that she was charming, fair 
as a lily, gentle as a lamb, but that he loved her above all 
on account of the beauties of her soul. 

“ Ah ! " thought Mimi, loosening the waves of her dark 
hair over her snowy shoulders, “my lover, Rodolphe, 
was not so exclusive." 

As Marcel had stated, Rodolphe seemed to be radically 


278 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

cured of his love for Mademoiselle Mimi, and three or 
four days after his separation, the poet re-appeared com- 
pletely metamorphosed. He was attired with an elegance 
that must have rendered him unrecognizable by his very 
looking-glass. Nothing, indeed, about him seemed to 
justify the fear that he intended to commit suicide, as 
Mademoiselle Mimi had started the rumour, with all 
kinds of hypocritical condolences. Rodolphe was, in 
fact, quite calm ; he listened with unmoved countenance 
to all the stories told him about the new and sumptuous 
existence led by his mistress — who took pleasure in keep- 
ing him informed on these points — by a young girl who 
had remained her confidant, and who had occasion to see 
Rodolphe almost every evening. 

“Mimi is very happy with Vicomte Paul,” the poet was 
told, “she seems thoroughly smitten with him, only one 
thing causes her any uneasiness, she is afraid least you 
should disturb her tranquillity by coming after her ; which, 
by the way, would be dangerous for you, for the vicomte 
worships his mistress, and is a good fencer. ” 

“Oh,” replied Rodolphe, “she can sleep in peace, I 
have no wish to go and cast vinegar over the sweetness 
of her honeymoon. As to her young lover he can leave 
his dagger at home like Gastibelza. I have no wish to 
attempt the life of a young gentleman who has still the 
happiness of being nursed by illusions.” 

And as they did not fail to carry back to Mimi the way 
in which her ex-lover received all these details, she on her 
part did not forget to reply, shrugging her shoulders : 

“That is all very well, you will see what will come of 
it in a day or two.” 

However, Rodolphe was himself, and more than any- 
one else, astonished at this sudden indifference, which, 
without passing through the usual transitions of sadness 
and melancholy, had followed the stormy feelings by 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 279 

which he had been stirred only a few days before. For 
getfulness, so slow to come — above all for the virtues of 
love — that forgetfulness which they summon so loudly and 
repulse with equal loudness when they feel it approaching, 
that pitiless consoler had all at once, and without his being 
able to defend himself from it, invaded Rodolphe’s heart, 
and the name of the woman he so dearly loved could now 
be heard without awakening any echo in it. Strange fact * 
Rodolphe, whose memory was strong enough to recall to 
mind things that had occurred in the farthest days of his 
past and beings who had figured in or influenced his most 
remote existence — Rodolphe could not, whatever efforts 
he might make, recall with clearness after four days' sepa- 
ration, the features of that mistress who had nearly broken 
his life between her slender fingers. He could no longer 
recall the softness of the eyes by the light of which he 
had so often fallen asleep. He could no longer remember 
the notes of that voice whose anger and whose caressing 
utterances had alternately maddened him. A poet, who 
was a friend of his, and who had not seen him since his 
absence, met him one evening. Rodolphe seemed busy 
and preoccupied ; he was walking rapidly along the street, 
twirling his cane. 

“ Hallo," said the poet, holding out his hand, “ so here 
you are,” and he looked curiously at Rodolphe. Seeing 
that the latter looked somewhat downcast he thought it 
right to adopt a consoling tone. 

“Come, courage, my dear fellow, I know that it is hard, 
but then it must always have come to this. Better now 
than later on ; in three months you will be quite cured.” 

“What are you driving at ? " said Rodolphe, “I am not 
ill, my dear fellow." 

' ‘ Come," said the other, “do not play the braggart. I 
know fh6 whole story, and if I did not, I could read it in 
your face." 


280 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


“Take care, you are making a mistake,” said Rodolphe, 
“I am very much annoyed this evening, it is true, but you 
have not exactly hit on the cause of my annoyance.” 

“Good, but why defend yourself? It is quite natural. 
A connection that has lasted a couple of years cannot be 
broken off so readily. ” 

“ Everyone tells me the same thing,” said Rodolphe, 
getting impatient. “Well, upon my honour, you make a 
mistake, you and the others. I am very vexed, and I look 
like it ; that is possible, but this is the reason why. I was 
expecting my tailor with a new dress-coat to-day, and he 
has not come ; that is what I am annoyed about. 

“ Bad, bad,” said the other laughing. 

“ Not at all bad, but good on the contrary, very good ; 
excellent, in fact. Follow my argument and you shall 
see. ” 

“Come,” said the poet, “I will listen to you. Just 
prove to me how anyone can in reason look so wretched 
because a tailor has failed to keep his word. Come, come, 
I am waiting.” 

“Well,” said Rodolphe, “you know very well that the 
greatest effects spring from the most trifling causes. I 
ought, this evening, to pay a very important visit, and I 
cannot do so for want of a dress-coat. Now, do you 
see it ? ” 

“ Not at all. There is up to this no sufficient reason 
shown for a state of desolation. You are in despair be- 
cause You are very silly to try to deceive. That is 

my opinion.” 

“My friend, ” said Rodolphe, ^ ‘ you are very opinionated. 
It is always enough to vex us when we miss happiness, 
and at any rate pleasure, because it is almost always so 
much lost for ever, and we are wrong in saying ‘I will 
make up for it another time.’ I will resume ; I had an 
appointment this evening with a lady ; I was to meet her 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEB. 281 

at a friend’s house, whence I should, perhaps have taken 
her home to mine, if it were nearer than her own, and even 
if it were not. At this house there was a party. At parties 
one must wear a dress-coat. I have no dress-coat ; my 
tailor was to bring me one ; he does not do so ; I do not 
go to the party ; 1 do not meet the lady who is, perhaps, 
met by someone else ; I do not see her home either to my 
place or hers, and she is, perhaps, seen home by another. 
So, as I told you, I have lost an opportunity of happiness 
and pleasure ; hence I am vexed ; hence I look so, and 
quite naturally.” 

“ Very good,” said his friend, “with one foot just ouC 
of one hell, you want to put the other foot in another ; 
but, my dear fellow, when I met you you seemed to be 
waiting for some one.” 

“So I was.” 

“ But,” continued the other, “we are in the neighbour- 
hood in which your ex-mistress is living ; what is there 
to prove that you are not waiting for her ? ” 

“Although separated from her, special reasons oblige 
me to live in this neighbourhood ; but, although neigh- 
bours, we are as distant as if she were at one pole and I 
at the other. Besides, at this particular moment, my ex- 
mistress is seated at her fireside taking lessons in French 
Grammar from Vicomte Paul, who wishes to bring her back 
to the paths of virtue by the road of orthography. Good 
heavens, how he will spoil her ! However, that regards 
himself, now that he is editor-in-chief of her happiness. 
You see, therefore, that your reflections are absurd, and 
that, instead of following up the half-effaced traces of my 
old love, I am on the track of my new one, who is already 
to some extent my neighbour, and will become yet more 
so : for I am willing to take all the necessary steps, and 
if she will take the rest, we shall not be long in coming 
to an understanding.” 


282 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“ Really/’ said the poet, “ are you in love again 
already ? ” 

“This is what it is,” replied Rodolphe, “my heart re- 
sembles those lodgings that are advertised to let as soon 
as a tenant leaves them. As soon as one love leaves my 
heart, I put up a bill for another. The locality besides is 
habitable and in perfect repair.” 

“And who is this new idol ! where and when did you 
make her acquaintance?” 

“Come,” said Rodolphe, “ let us go through things in 
order. When Mimi went away I thought that I should 
never be in love again in my life, and imagined that my 
heart was dead of fatigue, exhaustion, whatever you like. 
It had been beating so long and so fast, too fast, that the 
thing was probable. In short I believed it dead, quite 
dead, and thought of burying it like Marlborough. In 
honour of the occasion I gave a little funeral dinner, to 
which I invited some of my friends. The guests were to 
assume a melancholy air, and the bottles had crape round 
their necks. ” 

“You did not invite me.” 

“ Excuse me, but I did not know your address in that 
part of cloudland which you inhabit. One of the guests 
had brought a young lady, a young woman also aban- 
doned a short time before by her lover. She was told my 
story : it was one of my friends who plays very nicely up- 
on the violoncello of sentiment who did this. He spoke 
to this young widow of the qualities of my heart, the poor 
defunct whom we were about to inter, and invited her to 
drink to its eternal repose. 'Come, now,’ said she, raising 
her glass, ‘ I drink, on the contrary, to its very good 
health,’ and she gave me a look, enough, as they say, 
to awake the dead. It was indeed the occasion to say 
so, for she had scarcely finished her toast than I heard 
my heart singing the 0 FiUi of the Resurrection. What 
would you have done in my place ? ” 


THe'^OHEMIANS of the LATIN QUARTER. 283 

A pretty question — what is her name?" 

“ I do not know yet ; I shall only ask her at the moment 
we sign our lease. I know very well that in the opinion 
of some people I have overstepped the legal delays, but 
you see I plead in my own court, and I have granted a 
dispensation. What I do know is that she brings me as a 
dowry cheerfulness, which is the health of the soul, and 
health which is the cheerfulness of the body." 

“Is she pretty?" 

“Very pretty, especially as regards her complexion; 
one would say that she made up every morning with 
Watteau’s palate, ‘ She is fair, and her conquering glances 
kindle love in every heart’ As witness mine." 

“A blonde ? You astonish me." 

“ Yes. I have had enough of ivory and ebony ; I am 
going in for a blonde," andRodolphe began to skip about 
as he sang : 

“ Praises sing unto my sweet, 

She is fair. 

Yellow as the ripening wheat 
Is her hair.” 

“ Poor Mimi," said his friend, “so soon forgotten.” 

This name cast into Rodolphe’s mirthsomeness, sud- 
denly gave another turn to the conversation. Rodolphe 
took his friend by the arm, and related to him at length 
the causes of his rupture with Mademoiselle Mimi, the 
terrors that had awaited him when she had left ; how he 
was in despair because he thought that she had carried 
off with her all that remained to him of youth and pas- 
sion, and how two days later he had recognized his mis- 
take on feeling the gunpowder in his heart, though 
swamped with so many sobs and tears, dry, kindle, and 
explode at the first look of love cast at him by the first 
woman he met. He narrated the sudden and imperious 
invasion of forgetfulness, without his even having sum- 


284 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETER. 

moned it in aid of his grief, and how this grief was dead 
and buried in the said forgetfulness. 

“ Is it not a miracle ? said he to the poet, who, know- 
ing by heart and from experience all the painful chapters 
of shattered loves, replied : 

^‘No, no, my friend, there is no more of a miracle for 
you than for the rest of us. What has happened to you 
has happened to myself. The women we love, when 
they become our mistresses, cease to be for us what they 
really are. We do not see them only with a lover's eyes, 
but with a poet’s. As a painter throws on the shoulders 
of a lay figure the imperial purple or the star-spangled robe 
of a Holy Virgin, so we have always whole stores of glit- 
tering mantles and robes of pure white linen which we 
cast over the shoulders of dull, sulky, or spiteful creatures, 
and when they have thus assumed the garb in which our 
ideal loves float before us in our waking dreams, we let 
ourselves be taken in by this disguise, we incarnate our 
dream in the first comer, and address her in our language, 
which she does not understand. However, let this creature 
at whose feet we live prostrate, tear away herself the dense 
envelope beneath which we have hidden her, and reveal 
to us her evil nature and her base instincts ; let her place 
our hands on the spot where her heart should be, but 
where nothing beats any longer, and has perhaps never 
beaten ; let her open her veil, and show us her faded 
eyes, pale lips, and haggard features ; we replace that 
veil, and exclaim, * It is not true ! it is not true ! I love 
you, and you, too, love me ! This white bosom holds a 
heart that has all its youthfulness ; I love you, and you 
love me ! You are beautiful, you are young. At the 
bottom of all your vices there is love. I love you, and 
you love me ! ' Then in the end, always quite in the 
end, when, after having all very well put triple bandages 
over our eyes, we see ourselves the dupes of our mistakes, 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAETEB. 285 

we drive away the wretch who was our idol of yesterday ; 
we take back from her the golden veils of poesy, which, 
on the morrow, we again cast on the shoulders of some 
other unknown, who becomes at once an aureola-sur- 
rounded idol. That is what we all are — monstrous egoists 
— who love love for love’s sake — you understand me ? 
We sip the divine liquor from the first cup that comes 
to hand. ‘ What matter the bottle, so long as we draw 
intoxication from it ? ' ” 

“What you say is as true as that two and two make 
four, ’’ said Rodolphe to the poet. 

“ Yes,” replied the latter, “ it is true, and as sad as three- 
quarters of the things that are true. Good night.” 

Two days later Mademoiselle Miini learned that 
Rodolphe had a new mistress. She only asked one thing 
— whether he kissed her hands as often as he used to kiss 
her own ? 

“Quite as often,” replied Marcel. “In addition, he is 
kissing the hairs of her head one after the other, and they 
are to remain with one another till he has finished.” 

“Ah! ’’replied Mimi passing her hand through her own 
tresses. “It was lucky he did not think of doing the 
same with me, or we should have remained together all 
our lives. Do you think it is really true that he no longer 
loves me at all ?” 

“ Humph — and you, do you still love him ?” 

“Ill never loved him in my life.” 

“Yes, Mimi, yes. You loved him at those moments 
when a woman^s heart changes place. You loved him ; 
do nothing to deny it ; it is your justification.” 

“Bah ! ” said Mimi, “he loves another now.” 

“True,” said Marcel, but no matter. Later on the 
remembrance of you will be to him like those flowers 
that we place fresh and full of perfume between the 
leaves of a book, and which long afterwards we find dead. 


286 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


discoloured, and faded, but still always preserving a vague 
perfume of their first freshness.” 

♦ * * * * 

One evening, when she was humming in a low tone to 
herself, Vicomte Paul said to Mimi. 

“What are you singing, dear?” 

“The funeral chant of our loves, that my lover 
Rodolphe has lately composed.” 

And she began to sing : — 

“ I have not a sou now, my dear, and the rule 
In such a case surely is soon to forget, 

So tearless, for she who would weep is a fool, 

Vou’ll blot out all mem’ry of me, eh, my pet? 

“ Well, still all the same we have spent as you know 
Some days that were happy — and each with its night, 

They did not last long, but, alas, here below. 

The shortest are ever those we deem most bright.’* 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


287 


CHAPTER XXL 

ROMEO AND JULIET. 

Attired like a fashion-plate out of his paper, the “Scarf 
of Iris,'" with new gloves, polished boots, freshly-shaven 
face, curled hair, waxed moustache, stick in hand, glass 
in eye, smiling, youthful, altogether nice-looking, in such 
guise our friend, the poet Rodolphe, might have been seen 
one November evening on the boulevard waiting for a 
cab to take him home. 

Rodolphe waiting for a cab ? What cataclysm had then 
taken place in his existence ? 

At the very hour that the transformed poet was twirling 
his moustache, chewing the end of an enormous regalia, 
and charming the fair sex, one of his friends was also 
passing down the boulevard. It was the philosopher, 
Gustave Colline. Rodolphe saw him coming, and at 
once recognized him ; as indeed, who would not who had 
once seen him ? Colline as usual was laden with a dozen 
volumes. Clad in that immortal hazel overcoat, the dur- 
ability of which makes one believe that it must have been 
built by the Romans, and with his head covered by his 
famous broad-brimmed hat, a dome of beaver, beneath 
which buzzed a swarm of hyperphysical dreams and 
which was nicknamed Mambrino’s Helmet of Modern 
Philosophy, Gustave Colline was walking slowly along, 
chewing the cud of the preface of a book that had already 
been in the press for the last three months — in his 
imagination. As he advanced towards the spot where 
Rodolphe was standing, Colline thought for a moment 
that he recognized him, but the supreme elegance displayed 


288 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTEB. 

by the poet threw the philosopher into a state of doubt 
and uncertainty. 

‘ ‘ Rodolphe with gloves and a walking-stick. Chimera ! 
Utopia ! Mental aberration ! Rodolphe curled and oiled ; 
he who has not so much hair as Father Time. What 
could I be thinking of? Besides, at this present moment 
my unfortunate friend is engaged in lamentation.s, and is 
composing melancholy verses upon the departure of 
Mademoiselle Mimi, who, I hear, has thrown him over. 
Well, for my part, I, too, regret the loss of that young 
woman ; she was a dab hand at making coffee, which is 
the beverage of serious minds. But I trust that Rodolphe 
will console himself, and soon get another Kettle-holder.” 

Colline was so delighted with his wretched joke, that 
he would willingly have applauded it, had not the stern 
voice of philosophy woke up within him, and put an 
energetic stop to this perversion of wit. 

However, as he halted close to Rodolphe, Colline was 
forced to yield to evidence. It was certainly Rodolphe, 
curled, gloved, and with a cane. It was impossible, but 
it was true. 

^‘Eh! eh! by Jove I ” said Colline. I am not 
mistaken. It is you, I am certain.” 

“So am I,” replied Rodolphe. 

Colline began to look at his friend, imparting to his 
countenance the expression pictorially made use of by 
M. Lebrun, the king’s painter in ordinary, to express 
surprise. But all at once he noted two strange articles 
with which Rodolphe was laden — firstly, a rope ladder, 
and secondly, a cage, in which some kind of bird was 
fluttering. At this sight, Gustave Colline’s physiognomy 
expressed a sentiment which Monsieur Lebrun, the king’s 
painter in ordinary, forgot to depict in his picture of 
“The Passions. ” 

“ Come,” said Rodolphe to his friend, “ I see very 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 289 

plainly the curiosity of your mind peeping out through the 
window of your eyes ; and I am going to satisfy it, only 
let us quit the public thoroughfare. It is cold enough 
here to freeze your questions and my answers." 

And they both went into a cafe. 

Colline’s eyes remained rivetted on the rope ladder as 
well as the cage, in which the bird, thawed by the atmos- 
phere of the cafe, began to sing in a language unknown 
to Colline, who was, however, a polyglottist. 

“ Well, then, said the philosopher, pointing to the rope 
ladder, ‘ ‘ what is that ? " 

“A connecting link between my love and me," replied 
Rodolphe, in lute-like accents. 

“And that? " said Colline, pointing to the bird. 

“That," said the poet, whose voice grew soft as the 
summer breeze, “is a clock." 

“Tell me without parables — in vile prose, but truly." 

“Very well. Have you read Shakespeare?" 

“ Have I read him ? ‘To be or not to be ? ’ He was a 
great philosopher. Yes, I have read him." 

“ Do you remember Romeo and Juliet 

“Do I remember? " said Colline, and he began to recite : 

“Wilt thou begone? it is not yet near day, 

It was the nightingale and not the lark.” 

“I should rather think I did remember. But what then ? " 

“What ! " said Rodolphe, pointing to the ladder and the 
bird. “ You do not understand ! This is the story : lam 
in love, my dear fellow, in love with a girl named Juliet." 

“Well, what then?" said Colline, impatiently. 

“This. My new idol being named Juliet, I have hit on 
a plan. It is to go through Shakespeare’s play with her. 
In the first place, my name is no longer Rodolphe, but 
Romeo Montague, and you will oblige me by not calling 
me otherwise. Besides, in order that everyone may know 


290 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

it, I have had some new visiting cards engraved. But that 
is not all. I shall profit by the fact that we are not in 
Carnival time to wear a velvet doublet and a sword.” 

“ To kill Tybalt with ? ” said Colline. 

** Exactly,” continued Rodolphe. “Finally, this lad- 
der that you see is to enable me to visit my mistress, who 
as it happens, has a balcony.” 

“But the bird, the bird ? ” said the obstinate Colline. 

“Why, this bird, which is a pigeon, is to play the part 
of the nightingale, and indicate every morning the precise 
moment when, as I am about to leave her loved arms, my 
mistress will throw them about my neck and repeat to me 
in her sweet tones the balcony scene, * It is not yet near 
day,’ that is to say, ‘It is not yet eleven, the streets are 
muddy, do not go yet, we are so comfortable here. ’ In 
order to perfect the imitation, I will try to get a nurse, 
and place her under the orders of my beloved, and I hope 
that the almanac will be kind enough to grant me a little 
moonlight now and then, when I scale my Juliet’s bal- 
cony. What do you say to my project, philosopher?” 

“It is very fine,” said Colline: “but could you also 
explain to me the mysteries of this splendid outer cover- 
ing that renders you unrecognizable ? You have become 
rich, then ? ” 

Rodolphe did not reply, but made a sign to one of the 
waiters, and carelessly threw down a louis, saying ; 

“Take for what we have had.” 

Then he tapped his waistcoat pocket, which gave forth 
a jingling sound. 

“ Have you got a bell in your pocket, for it to jingle as 
loud as that ? ” 

“Only a few louis.” 

“ Louis ! in gold?” said Colline, in a low voice choked 
with wonderment. “ Let me see what they are like.” 

After which the two friends parted, Colline to go and 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 291 

relate the opulent ways and new loves of Rodolphe, and 
the latter to return home. 

This took place during the week that had followed the 
second rupture between Rodolphe and Mademoiselle 
Mimi. The poet, when he had broken off with his mis- 
tress, felt a need of change of air and surroundings, and 
accompanied by his friend Marcel, he left the gloomy 
lodging-house, the landlord of which saw both him and 
Marcel depart without overmuch regret. Both, as we 
have said, sought quarters elsewhere, and hired two rooms 
in the same house and on the same floor. The room 
chosen by Rodolphe was incomparably more comfortable 
than any he had inhabited up till then. There were 
articles of furniture almost imposing, above all a sofa 
covered with red stuff, that was intended to imitate vel- 
vet, and did not. 

There were also on the mantel-piece two china vases, 
painted with flowers, between an elaborate clock, with 
fearful ornamentation. Rodolphe put the vases in a cup- 
board, and when the landlord came to wind the clock up, 
begged him to do nothing of the kind. 

am willing to leave the clock on the mantel-shelf,” 
said he, “but only as an object of art. It points to mid- 
night — a good hour; let it stick to it The day it marks 
five minutes past I will move. A clock,” continued 
Rodolphe, who had never been able to submit to the im- 
perious tyranny of the dial, “is a domestic foe who im- 
placably reckons up your existence hour by hour and 
minute by minute, and says to you every moment, ‘ Here 
is a fraction of your life gone.’ I could not sleep in peace 
in a room in which there was one of these instruments of 
torture, in the vicinity of which carelessness and reverie 
are impossible. A clock, the hands of which stretch to 
your bed and prick yours whilst you are still plunged in 
the soft delights of your first awakening. A clock, whose 


292 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTEE. 


voice cries to you, ‘ Ting, ting, ting ; it is the hour for 
business. Leave your charming dream, escape from the 
caresses of your visions, and sometimes of realities. Put 
on your hat and boots. It is cold, it rains, but go about 
your business. It is time — ting, ting.' It is quite 
enough already to have an almanac. Let my clock re- 
main paralyzed, or" 

Whilst delivering this monologue he was examining his 
new dwelling, and felt himself moved by that secret un- 
easiness which one almost always feels when going into a 
fresh lodging. 

“ I have noticed,” he reflected, “that the places we in- 
habit exercise a mysterious influence upon our thoughts, 
and consequently upon our actions. This room is cold 
and silent as a tomb. If ever mirth reigns here it will be 
brought in from without, and even then it will not be for 
long, for laughter will die away without echoes under this 
low ceiling, cold and white as a snowy sky. Alas ! what 
will my life be like within these four walls ? ” 

However, a few days later this room, erst so sad, was 
full of light, and rang with joyous sounds, it was the 
house-warming, and numerous bottles explained the lively 
humour of the guests. Rodolphe allowed himself to be 
won upon by the contagious good humour of his guests. 
Isolated in a corner with a young woman who had come 
there by chance, and whom he had taken possession of, 
the poet was sonnetteering with her with tongue and 
hands. Towards the close of the festivities he had ob- 
tained a rendezvous for the next day. 

“Well ! ” said he to himself when he was alone, “the 
evening hasn’t been such a bad one. My stay here hasn’t 
begun amiss.” 

The next day Mademoiselle Juliet called at the appointed 
hour. The evening was spent only in explanations. 
Juliet had learned the recent rupture of Rodolphe with the 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 203 

blue-eyed girl whom he had so dearly loved ; she knew 
that after having already left her once before Rodolphe 
had taken her back, and she was afraid of being the victim 
of a similar re-awakening of love. 

You see,” said she, with a pretty little pout, “I don’t 
at all care about playing a ridiculous part. I warn you 
that I am very forward, and once mispress here,” and she 
underlined by a look the meaning she gave to the word, 
“ I remain, and do not give up my place.” 

Rodolphe summoned all his eloquence to the rescue to 
convince her that her fears were without foundation, and 
the girl, having, on her side, a willingness to be convinced, 
they ended by coming to an understanding. Only they 
were no longer at an understanding when midnight struck, 
for Rodolphe wanted Juliet to stay, and she insisted on 
going. 

“ No,” she said to him as he persisted in trying to per- 
suade her. “Why be in such a hurry.? We shall always 
arrive in time at what we want to, provided you do not 
halt on the way. I will return to-morrow.” 

And she returned thus every evening for a week, to go 
away in the same way when midnight struck. 

This delay did not annoy Rodolphe very much. In 
matters of love, and even of mere fancy, he was one of 
that school of travellers who prolong their journey and 
render it picturesque. This little sentimental preface had 
for its result to lead on Rodolphe at the outset further than 
he meant to go. And it was no doubt to lead him to that 
point at which fancy, ripened by the resistance opposed to 
it, begins to resemble love, that Mademoiselle Juliet had 
made use of this stratagem. 

At each fresh visit that she paid to Rodolphe Juliet re- 
marked a more pronounced tone of sincerity in what he 
said. He felt when she was a little behindhand in keep- 
ing her appointment an impatience that delighted her, and 


294 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

he even wrote her letters, the language of which was 
enough to give her hopes that she would speedily become 
his legitimate mistress. 

When Marcel, who was his confidant, once caught sight 
of one of Rodolphe’s epistles, he said to him : 

“ Is it an exercise of style, or do you really think what 
you have said here ? ” 

Yes, I really think it,” replied Rodolphe, ‘‘ and I am 
even a bit astonished at it ; but it is so. I was, a week 
back, in a very sad state of mind. The solitude and silence 
that had so abruptly succeeded the storms and tempests of 
my old household alarmed me terribly, but Juliet arrived 
almost at the moment. I heard the sounds of twenty-year 
old laughter ring in my ears, I had before me a rosy face, 
eyes beaming with smiles, a mouth overflowing with 
kisses, and I have quietly allowed myself to glide down 
the hill of fancy that might perhaps lead me on to love. I 
love to love.” 

However, Rodolphe was not long in perceiving that it 
only depended upon himself to bring this little romance to 
a crisis, and it was then that he had the notion of copying 
from Shakespeare the scene of the love of Romeo and 
Juliet. His future mistress had deemed the notion amusing, 
and agreed to share in the jest. 

It was the very evening that the rendezvous was ap- 
pointed for that Rodolphe met the philosopher Colline, 
just as he had bought the rope ladder that was to aid him 
to scale Juliet’s balcony. The birdseller, to whom he had 
applied, not having a nightingale, Rodolphe replaced it 
by a pigeon, which he was assured sang every morning 
at daybreak. 

Returned home, the poet reflected that to ascend a rope- 
ladder was not an easy matter, and that it would be a good 
thing to rehearse the balcony scene, if he would not, in 
addition to the chances of a fall, run the risk of appearing 


295 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

awkward and ridiculous in the eyes of her who was await- 
ing him. Having fastened his ladder to two nails firmly 
driven into the ceiling, Rodolphe employed the two hours 
remaining to him in practising gymnastics, and after an 
infinite number of attempts, succeeded in managing after 
a fashion to get up half a score of rungs. 

“Come, that is all right,” he said to himself; “I am 
now sure of my affair; and besides, if I stuck half way, 
‘love would lend me his wings."” 

And, laden with his ladder and his pigeon cage, he set 
out for the abode of Juliet, who lived near. Her room 
looked into a little garden, and had indeed a balcony. But 
the room was on the ground floor, and the balcony could 
be stepped over as easily as possible. 

Hence Rodolphe was completely crushed when he per- 
ceived this local arrangement, which put to naught his 
poetical project of an escalade. 

“All the same,” said he to Juliet, “we can go through 
the episode of the balcony. Here is a bird that will arouse 
us to-morrow with his melodious notes, and warn us of 
the exact moment when we are to part from one another 
in despair.” 

And Rodolphe hung up the cage beside the fireplace. 

The next day at five in the morning the pigeon was 
exact to time, and filled the room with a prolonged cooing 
that would have awakened the two lovers — if they had 
gone to sleep. 

“ Well,” said Juliet, “this is the moment to go into the 
balcony and bid one another despairing farewells — what 
do you think of it ?” 

“ The pigeon is too fast, ” said Rodolphe. “It is No- 
vember, and the sun does not rise till noon.” 

“All the same,"’ said Juliet, “ I am going to get up.” 

“Why ?” 

“I feel quite empty, and I will not hide from you the 
fact that I could very well eat a mouthful.” 


296 '.THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“The agreement that prevails in our sympathies is 
astonishing; I am awfully hungry too,” said Rodolphe, 
also rising and hurriedly slipping on his clothes. 

Juliet had already lit afire, and was looking in her side- 
board to see whether she could find anything. Rodolphe 
helped her in this search. 

“ Hullo,” said he, “ onions.” 

“And some bacon,” said Juliet 

“Some butter.” 

“Bread.” 

Alas ! that was all. 

During the search the pigeon, a careless optimist, was 
singing on its perch. 

Romeo looked at Juliet, Juliet looked at Romeo, and 
both looked at the pigeon. 

They did not say anything, but the fate of the pigeon- 
clock was settled. Even if he had appealed it would have 
been useless, hunger is such a cruel counsellor. 

Rodolphe had lit some charcoal, and was turning bacon 
in the sputtering butter with a solemn air. 

Juliet was peeling onions in a melancholy attitude. 

The pigeon was still singing, it was the song of the 
swan. 

To these lamentations was joined the spluttering of the 
butter in the stew-pan. 

Five minutes later the butter was still spluttering, but 
the pigeon sang no longer. 

Romeo and Juliet grilled their clock. 

“He had a nice voice,” said Juliet, sitting down to 
table. 

‘^He is very tender,” said Rodolphe, carving his alarum, 
nicely browned. 

The two lovers looked at one another, and each surprised 
a tear in the other’s eye. 

Hypocrites, it was the onions that made them weep. 


297 


Vlf!-: UOIIEMIANS Oi.'’ THE LATIN QUARTER. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

EPILOGUE TO THE LOVES OF RODOLPHE AND MADEMOISELLE 
MIMI. 

Shortly after his final rupture with Mademoiselle Mimi, 
who had left him, as may be remembered, to ride in the 
carriage of Vicomte Paul, the poet Rodolphe had sought 
to divert his thoughts by taking a new mistress. 

She was the same blonde for whom we have seen him 
masquerading as Romeo. But this union, which was on 
the one part only a matter of spite, and on the other one 
of fancy, could not last long. The girl was after all only 
a light of love, warbling to perfection the gamut of trick- 
ery, witty enough to note the wit of others and to make 
use of it on occasion, and with only enough heart to feel 
heartburn when she had eaten too much. Add to this un- 
bridled self-esteem and a ferocious coquetry, which would 
have impelled her to prefer a broken leg for her lover 
rather than a flounce the less to her dress, or a faded rib- 
bon to her bonnet. A commonplace creature of doubt- 
ful beauty, endowed by nature with every evil instinct, 
and yet seductive from ce^'tain points of view and at cer- 
tain times. She was not long in perceiving that Ro- 
dolphe had only taken her to help him to forget the absent, 
whom she made him, on the contrary regret, for his old 
love had never been so noisy and so lively in his heart. 

One day Juliet, Rodolphe’s new mistress, was talking 
about her lover the poet, with a medical student who was 
courting her. The student replied : — 

My dear child, that fellow only makes use of you as 


298 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEK, 

they use nitrate to cauterize wounds. He wants to cau- 
terize his heart and nerve. You are very wrong to bother 
yourself about being faithful to him.” 

“Ah, ah ! ” cried the girl, breaking into a laugh. “ Do 
you really think that I put myself out about him ? ” 

And that very evening she gave the student a proof to 
the contrary. 

Thanks to the indiscretion of one of those officious 
friends who are unable to retain unpublished news 
capable of vexing you, Rodolphe soon got wind of the 
matter, and made it a pretext for breaking off with his 
temporary mistress. 

He then shut himself up in positive solitude, in which 
all the flitter-mice of en7iui soon came and nested, and 
he called work to his aid but in vain. Every evening, 
after wasting as much perspiration over the job as he did 
ink, he produced a score of lines in which some old idea, 
as worn out as the Wandering Jew, and vilely clad in 
rags cribbed from the literary dust heap, danced clumsily 
on the tight rope of paradox. On reading through these 
lines Rodolphe was as bewildered as a man who sees 
nettles spring up in a bed in which he thought he had 
planted roses. He would then tear up the paper, on 
which he had just scattered this chaplet of absurdities, 
and trample it under foot in a rage. 

“Come,” said he, striking himself on the chest just 
above the heart, “the cord is broken, there is nothing but 
to resign ourselves to it.” 

And as for some time past a like failure followed all 
his attempts at work, he was seized with one of those fits 
of depression which shake the most stubborn pride and 
cloud the most lucid intellects. Nothing is indeed more 
terrible than these hidden struggles that sometimes take 
place between the self-willed artist and his rebellious art. 
Nothing is more moving than these fits of rage alternat- 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 299 
ing with invocation, in turn supplicating or imperative, 
addressed to a disdainful or fugitive muse. 

The most violent human anguish, the deepest wounds 
to the quick of the heart, do not cause suffering approach- 
ing that which one feels in these hours of doubt and im- 
patience, so frequent for those who give themselves up to 
the dangerous calling of imagination. 

To these violent crises succeeded painful fits of depres- 
sion. Rodolphe would then remain for whole hours as 
though petrified in a state of stupefied immobility. His 
elbows upon the table, his eyes fixed upon the luminous 
patch made by the rays of the lamp falling upon the sheet 
of paper, — the battlefield on which his mind was van- 
quished daily, and on which his pen had become found- 
ered in its attempts to pursue the unattainable idea — he 
saw slowly defile before him, like the figures of dissolving 
views with which children are amused, fantastic pictures 
which unfolded before him the panorama of his past. It 
was at first the laborious days in which each hour marked 
the accomplishment of some task, the studious nights 
spent in tete-h-tete with the muse who came to adorn with 
her fairy visions his solitary and patient poverty. And he 
remembered then with envy the pride of skill that intox- 
icated him of yore when he had completed the task im- 
posed on him by his will. 

“Oh ! nothing is equal to you," he exclaimed, “vol- 
uptuous fatigues of labour which render the mattresses 
of idleness so sweet. Not the satisfaction of self-esteem 
nor the feverish slumbers stifled beneath the heavy dra- 
pery of mysterious alcoves equals that calm and honest 
joy, that legitimate self-satisfaction which work bestows 
on the labourer as a first salary. " 

And with eyes still fixed on these visions which con- 
tinued to retrace for him the scenes of by-gone days, he 
once more ascended the six flights of stairs of all the gar- 


300 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

rets in which his adventurous existence had been spent, 
in which the Muse, his only love in those days, a faithful 
and persevering sweetheart had always followed him, 
living happily with poverty and never breaking off her 
song of hope. But, lo, in the midst of this regular and 
tranquil life there suddenly appears a woman’s face, and 
seeing her enter the dwelling where she had been until 
then sole queen and mistress, the poet’s Muse rose sadly 
and gave place to the new-comer in whom she had di- 
vined a rival. Rodolphe hesitated a moment between the 
Muse to whom his look seemed to say “ Stay,” whilst a 
gesture addressed to the stranger said “Come.” 

And how could he repulse her, this charming creature 
who came to him armed with all the seductions of a beauty 
at its dawn ? Tiny mouth and rosy lips, speaking in bold 
and simple language full of coaxing promises. How re- 
fuse his hand to this little white one, delicately veined 
with blue, that was held out to him full of caresses.? How 
say “Get you gone,” to these eighteen years, the presence 
of which already filled the home with a perfume of youth 
and gaiety ? And then with her sweet voice, tenderly 
thrilling, she sang the cavatina of temptation so well. 
With her bright and sparkling eyes she said so clearly 
“ I am love ; ” with her lips, where kisses nestled, “ I am 
pleasure ;” with her whole being, in short, “I am hap- 
piness,” that Rodolphe let himself be caught by them. 
And, besides, was not this young girl after all real and 
living poetry, had he not owed her his freshest inspira- 
tions, hard she not often initiated him into enthusiasms 
which bore him so far afield in the ether of reverie that he 
lost sight of all things of earth .? If he had suffered deeply 
on account of her, was not this suffering the expiation of 
the immense joys she had bestowed upon him ? Was it 
not the ordinary vengeance of human fate which forbids 
absolute happiness as an impiety ? If the law of Chris- 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN (^UAKTEE. 301 

tianity forgives those who have much loved, it is because 
they have also much suffered, and terrestrial love never 
became a divine passion save on condition of being 
purified by tears. As one grows intoxicated by breath- 
ing the odour of faded roses, Rodolphe again became so 
by reviving in recollection that past life in which every 
day brought about a fresh elegy, a terrible drama, or a 
grotesque comedy. He went through all the phases of 
his strange love from their honeymoon to the domestic 
storms that had brought about their last rupture, he re- 
called all the tricks of his ex-mistress, repeated all her 
witty sayings. He saw her going to and fro about their 
little household, humming her favourite song, and facing 
with the same careless gaiety good or evil days. 

And in the end he arrived at the conclusion that com- 
mon sense was always wrong in love affairs. What, in- 
deed, had he gained by their rupture? At the time 
when he was living with Mimi she deceived him, it was 
true, but if he was aware of this it was his fault after all 
that he was so, and because he gave himself infinite pains 
to become aware of it, because he passed his time on the 
alert for proofs, and himself sharpened the daggers which 
he plunged into his heart. Besides, was not Mimi clever 
enough to prove to him at need that he was mistaken ? 
And then for whose sake was she false to him ? It was 
generally a shawl or a bonnet — for the sake of things and 
not men. That calm, that tranquillity which he had hoped 
for on separating from his mistress, had he found them 
again after her departure? Alas ! no. There was only 
herself the less in the house. Of old his grief could find 
vent, he could break into abuse, or representations — he 
could show all he suffered and excite the pity of her who 
caused his sufferings. But now his grief was solitary, 
hisjealousy had become madness, for formerly he could 
at any rate, when he suspected anything, hinder Mimi 


302 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

from going out, keep her beside him in his possession, 
and now he might meet her in the street on the arm of 
her new lover, and must turn aside to let her pass, happy 
no doubt, and bent upon pleasure. 

This wretched life lasted three or four months. By 
degrees he recovered his calmness. Marcel, who had 
undertaken a long journey to drive Musette out of his 
mind, returned to Paris, and again came to live with 
Rodolphe. They consoled one another. 

One Sunday, crossing the Luxembourg Gardens, Ro- 
dolphe met Mimi resplendently dressed. She was going 
to a public ball. She nodded to him, to which he re- 
sponded by a bow. This meeting gave him a great shock, 
but his emotion was less painful than usual. He walked 
about for a little while in the gardens, and then returned 
home. When Marcel came in that evening he found him 
at work. 

‘‘What ! ” said Marcel, leaning over his shoulder. “ You 
are working — verses ? ” 

“Yes,” replied Rodolphe cheerfully; “I believe that 
the machine will still work. During the last four hours I 
have once more found the go of bygone time, I have seen 
Mimi.” 

“Ah!” said Marcel uneasily. “On what terms are 
you ? ” 

“ Do not be afraid,” said Rodolphe, “we only bowed 
to one another. It went no further than that.” 

•‘ Really and truly ? ” asked Marcel. 

“Really and truly. It is all over between us, I feel it; 
but if I can get to work again, I forgive her.” 

“If it is so completely finished,” said Marcel, who had 
read through Rodolphe’s verses, “why do you write 
verses about her ? ” 

“Alas ! ” replied the poet, “I take my poetry where I 
can find it” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 303 

For a week he worked at this little poem. When he 
had finished it he read it to Marcel, who expressed him- 
self satisfied with it, and who encouraged Rodolphe to 
utilize in other ways the poetical vein that had come back 
to him. 

“For,” remarkedhe, “it was not worth while leaving 
Mimi if you are always to live under her shadow. After 
all, though,” he continued, smiling, “ instead of lecturing 
others, I should do well to lecture myself, for my heart is 
still full of Musette. Well, after all, perhaps we shall not 
always be young fellows in love with such imps.” 

“ Alas !” said Rodolphe, “there is no need to say in 
one’s youth, ‘ Be off with you. ’ ” 

“That is true,” observed Marcel, “but there are days 
on which I feel I should like to be a respectable old fellow, a 
member of the Institute, decorated with several orders, 
and, having done with the Musettes of this circle of society, 
the devil fly away with me if I would return to it. And 
you,” he continued, laughing, “would you like to be 
sixty? ” 

‘ ‘ To-day, ” replied Rodolphe, ‘ ' I would rather have sixty 
francs. ” 

A few days later, Mademoiselle Mimi having gone into 
a caf6 with young Vicomte Paul, opened a magazine, in 
which the verses Rodolphe had written on her were 
printed. 

“ Good,” said she, laughing at first ; “here is my friend 
Rodolphe saying nasty things of me in the papers. 

But when she had finished the verses she remained intent 
and thoughtful. Vicomte Paul, guessing that she was 
thinking of Rodolphe, sought to divert her attention. 

“I will buy you a pair of earrings,” said he. 

“Ah !” said Mimi, “You have money, you have.” 

“And a Leghorn straw hat,” continued the viscount. 

“No,” said Mimi, “ if you want to please me buy me 
this.” 


304 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


And she showed him the magazine in which she had 
just been reading Rodolphe’s poetry. 

“Oh ! as to that, no,'" said the viscount, vexed. 

“Very well,'' said Mimi, coldly, “ I will buy it myself 
with money I will earn. In point of fact, I would rather 
that it was not with yours." 

And for two days Mimi went back to her old flower- 
maker's workrooms, where she earned enough to buy this 
number. She learned Rodolphe’s poetry by heart, and, to 
annoy Vicomte Paul, repeated it all day long to her friends. 
The verses were as follows : 

“When I was seeking where to pledge my truth 

Chance brought me face to face with you one day; 

At once I offered you my heart, my youth, 

‘ Do with them what you will, ’ I dared to say. 

“But ‘what you would,’ was cruel, dear; alas I 
The youth 1 trusted with you is no more; 

The heart is shattered like a fallen glass, 

And the wind sings a funeral mass 
On the deserted chamber floor, 

Where he who loved you ne’er may pass. 

“ Between us now, my dear, ’tis all U. P., 

I am a spectre and a phantom you. 

Our love is dead and buried ; if you agree. 

We’ll sing around its tombstone dirges due. 

“ But let us take an air in a low key. 

Lest we should strain our voices, more or less; 

Some solemn minor, free from flourishes; 

I’ll take the bass, sing you the melody. 

“Mi, re, mi, do, re, la,— ah ! ,not that song ! 

Hearing the song that once you used to sing 
My heart would palpitate — though dead so long — 

And, at the De Profundis^ upward spring. 

“ Do, mi, fa, sol, mi, do, — this other brings 
Back to the mind a valse of long ago. 

The fife’s shrill laughter mocked the soimding strings 
That wept their notes of crystal to the bow. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


305 


“ Sol do, do, si, si, la, — ah ! stay your hand ! 

This is the air we sang last year in chorus, 

With Germans shouting for their fatherland 
In Meudon woods, while summer’s moon stood o’er us. 

“Well, well, we will not sing nor speculate. 

But — since we know they never more may be 
On our lost loves, without a grudge or hate. 

Drop, while we smile, a final memory. ^ 

** What times we had, up there; do you remember? 

When on your window-panes the rain would stream, 
And, seated by the fire in dark December, 

I felt your eyes inspire me many a dream. 

“ The live coal crackled, kindling with the heat, 

The kettle sang, melodious and sedate, 

A music for the visionary feet 
Of salamanders leaping in the grate : 

“Languid and lazy, with an imread book. 

You scarcely tried to keep your lids apart, 

While to my youthful love new growth I took. 

Kissing your hands and yielding you my heart. 

“In merely entering one might believe. 

One felt a scent of love and gaiety, 

Which filled our little room from morn to eve, 

For fortune loved our hospitality. 

“ And winter went ; then, through the open sash, 

Spring flew, to say the year’s long night was done; 

We heard the call, and ran with impulse rash 
In the green country-side to meet the sun. 

“It was the Friday of the Holy Week, 

The weather, for a wonder, mild and fair; 

From hill to valley, and from plain to peak. 

We wandered long, delighting in the air. 

“At length, exhausted by the pilgrimage, 

We found a sort of natural divan. 

Whence we could view the landscape, or engage 
Our eyes in rapture on the heaven’s wide span. 

20 


30G 


TEE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER, 


“Hand clasped in hand, shoulder on shoulder laid, 

With sense of something ventured, something missed. 
Our two lips parted, each ; no word was said, 

And silently we kissed. 

“Around us blue-bell and shy violet 

Their simple incense seemed to wave on high; 

Surely we saw, with glances heavenward set 
God smiling from his azure balcony. 

“ ‘ Love on ! ’ he seemed to say, ‘ I make more sweet 
The road of life you are to wander by, 

Spreading the velvet moss beneath your feet; 

Kiss, if you will; I shall not play the spy. 

“ ‘Love on, love on ! in murmurs of the breeze. 

In limpid streams, and in the woodland screen 
That burgeons fresh in renovated green, 

In stars, in flowers, and music of the trees. 

“ ‘ Love on, love on ! but if my golden sun, 

My spring, that comes once more to gladden earth, 

If these should move your breasts to grateful mirt\ 

I ask no thanksgiving, your kiss is one.’ 

“A month passed by; and, when the roses bloomed 
In beds that we had planted in the spring, 

When least of all I thought my love was doomed. 

You cast it from you like a noisome thing. 

“ Not that your scorn was all reserved for me, 

It flies about the world by fits and starts; 

Your changeful fancy flits impartially 
From knave of diamonds to knave of hearts. 

“And now you are happy, with a brilliant suite 
Of bowing slaves and insincere gallants; 

Go where you will, you see them at your feet; 

A bed of perfumed posies round you flaunts. 

“The Ball’s your garden : an admiring globe 
Of lovers rolls about the lit saloon. 

And, at the rustling of your silken robe. 

The pack, in chorus, Ijay you like the moon. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 


307 


“ Shod in the softness of a supple boot 

Which Cinderella would have found too small, 
One scarcely sees your little pointed foot 
Flash in the flashing circle of the Ball. 

‘ ‘ In the soft baths that indolence has brought 

Your once brown hands have got the ivory white, 
The pallor of the lily which has caught 
The silver moonbeam of a summer night : 

“ On your white arm half clouded, and half clear. 
Pearls shine in bracelets made of chiselled gold; 
On your trim waist a shawl of true Cashmere 
iFsthetically falls in waving fold: 

** Honiton point and costly Mechlin lace, 

With gothic guipure of a creamy-white — 

The matchless cobwebs of long- vanished days— 
Combine to make your presence rich and bright. 

“ But I preferred a simpler guise than that, 

Your frock of muslin or plain calico. 

Simple adornments, with a veilless hat, 

Boots, black or grey, a collar white and low. 

“The splendour your admirers now adore 

Will never bring me back my ancient heats ; 

And you are dead and buried, all the more 

For the silk shroud where heart no longer beats. 

“ So, when I worked at this funereal dirge, 

Where grief for a lost lifetime stands confessed, 

I wore a clerk’s costume of sable serge. 

Though not gold eye-glasses or pleated vest. 

“My penholder was wrapped in mournful crape. 

The paper with black lines was bordered round 
On which I laboured to provide escape 

For love’s last memory hidden in the ground. 

“And now, when all the heart that I can save 
Is used to furnish forth its epitaph. 

Gay as a sexton digging his own grave 
I burst into a wild and frantic laugh; 


308 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEB. 

‘‘A laugh engendered by a mocking vein; 

The pen I grasped was trembling as I wrote; 

And, even while I laughed, a scalding rain 
Of tears turned all the writing to a blot. 

It was the 24th of December, and that evening the Latin 
Quarter bore a special aspect. Since four o’clock in the 
afternoon the pawnbroking establishments and the shops 
of the second-hand clothes dealers and booksellers had been 
encumbered by a noisy crowd, who, later in the evening, 
took the ham and beef shops, cook shops and grocers by 
assault. The shopmen, even if they had had a hundred 
arms, like Briareus, would not have sufficed to serve the 
customers who struggled with one another for provisions. 
At the baker’s they formed a string as in times of dearth. 
The wine shop keepers got rid of the produce of three vin- 
tages, and a clever statistician would have found it diffi- 
cult to reckon up the number of knuckles of ham and of 
sausages which were sold at the famous shop of Borel, in 
the Rue Dauphine. In this one evening Daddy Cretaine, 
nicknamed Petit-Pain, exhausted eighteen editions of his 
cakes. All night long sounds of rejoicing broke out from 
the lodging houses, the windows of which were brilliantly 
lit up, and an atmosphere of revelry filled the district. 

The old festival of Christmas Eve was being celebrated. 

That evening, towards ten o’clock, Marcel and Rodolphe 
were proceeding homeward somewhat sadly. Passing up 
the Rue Dauphine they noticed a great crowd in the shop 
of a provision dealer, and halted a moment before the 
window. Tantalized by the sight of the toothsome gas- 
tronomic products, the two Bohemians resembled, during 
this contemplation, that person in a Spanish romance who 
caused hams to shrink only by looking at them. 

“That is called a truffled turkey,” said Marcel, pointing 
to a splendid bird, showing through its rosy and transpa- 
rent skin the Perigordian tubercles with which it was 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 309 

stuffed. "‘I have seen impious folk eat it without first 
going down on their knees before it/’ added the painter, 
casting upon the turkey looks capable of roasting it. 

“And what do you think of that modest leg of salt 
marsh mutton ? ” asked Rodolphe. ‘ ‘ What fine colouring ! 
one might think it was just unhooked from that butcher’s 
shop in one of Jordaen’s pictures. Such a leg of mutton 
is the favourite dish of the gods, and of my godmother, 
Madame Chandelier.” 

“ Look at those fish ! ” resumed Marcel, pointing to some 
trout ; ‘ ‘ they are the most expert swimmers of the aquatic 
race. Those little creatures, without any appearance of 
pretension, could, however, make a fortune by the exhibi- 
tion of their skill : fancy, they can swim up a perpendicu- 
lar waterfall as easily as we should accept an invitation 
to supper. I have almost had a chance of tasting them.” 

“And down there — those large golden fruit, the foliage 
of which resembles a trophy of savage sabre blades ! they 
are called pine-apples, and are the pippins of the tropics.” 

“That is a matter of indifference to me,” said Marcel. 
“ So far as fruits are concerned, I prefer that piece of beef, 
that ham, or that simple gammon of bacon, cuirassed with 
jelly as transparent as amber.” 

“You are right,” replied Rodolphe ; “ ham is the friend 
of man, when he has one. However, I would not repulse 
that pheasant.” 

“ I should think not : it is the dish of crowned heads.” 

And as, continuing on their way, they met joyful pro- 
cessions proceeding homewards, to do honor to Momus, 
Bacchus, Comus, and all the other divinities with names 
ending in “us,” they asked themselves "who was the 
Gamacho whose wedding was being celebrated with such 
a profusion of victuals. 

Marcel was the first who recollected the date and its 
festival. 


310 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“ It is Christmas Eve,” said he. 

“Do you remember last year’s.-^ ” inquired Rodolphe. 

“Yes,” replied Marcel ; at Momus's. It was Barbe- 
muche who stood treat. I should never have thought 
that a delicate girl like Phemie could have held so much 
sausage.” 

“What a pity that Momus has cut off our credit,” said 
Rodolphe. 

“ Alas,” said Marcel ; “calendars succeed but do not 
resemble one another.” 

“ Would not you like to keep Christmas Eve?” asked 
Rodolphe. 

“With whom and with what?” inquired the painter. 

“With me.” 

“And the coin?” 

“Wait a moment,” said Rodolphe ; “I will go into this 
cafe, where I know some people who play high. I will 
borrow a few sesterces from some favourite of fortune, and 
I will get something to wash down a sardine or a pig's 
trotter. ” 

‘^Go, ” said Marcel; “I am as hungry as a dog. I 
will wait for you here.” 

Rodolphe went into the cafe where he knew several peo- 
ple. A gentleman who had just won three hundred francs 
at cards, made a regular treat of lending the poet a forty 
sous piece, which he handed over with that ill-humour 
caused by the fever of play. At another time and else- 
where than at a card-table, he would very likely have been 
good for forty francs. 

“Well?” inquired Marcel, on seeing Rodolphe return. 

“Here are the takings,” said the poet, showing the 
money. 

“A bite and a sup,” said Marcel. 

With this small sum they were however able to obtain 
bread, wine, cold meat, tobacco, fire, and light. 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN OUABTER. 311 

They returned home to the lodging-house in which each 
had a separate room. Marcel’s, which also served him 
as a studio, being the larger, was chosen as the banquet- 
ting-hall, and the two friends set about the preparations 
for their feast there. 

But to the little table at which they were seated, beside 
a fireplace in which the damp logs burned away without 
flame or heat, came a melancholy guest, the phantom of 
the vanished past. 

They remained for an hour at least, silent, and thought- 
ful, both no doubt preoccupied by the same idea and striv- 
ing to hide it It was Marcel who first broke silence. 

“ Come,” said he to Rodolphe ; “this is not what we 
promised ourselves.” 

“ What do you mean > ” said Rodolphe. 

“ Oh ! ” replied Marcel ; “do not try to pretend with me 
now. You are thinking of that which should be forgot- 
ten and I too, by Jove, I do not deny it” 

“Well.?” 

“ Well, it must be for the last time. To the devil with 
recollections that make wine taste sour and render us mis- 
erable when everybody else are amusing themselves,” ex- 
claimed Marcel, alluding to the joyful shouts coming from 
the rooms adjoining theirs. “Come let us think of some- 
thing else, and let this be the last time. ” 

“That is what we always say and yet ” said Ro- 

dolphe, falling anew into a reverie. 

“And yet we are continually going back to it,” resumed 
Marcel. “That is because instead of frankly seeking to 
forget, we make the most trivial things a pretext to recall 
remembrances, which is due above all to the fact that we 
persist in living amidst the same surroundings in which the 
beings who have so long been our torment lived. We are 
less the slaves of passion than of habit. It is this cap- 
tivity that must be escaped from, or we shall wear our- 


312 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

selves out in a ridiculous and shameful slavery. Well, the 
past is past, we must break the ties that still bind us to it. 
The hour has come to go forward without looking back- 
ward ; we have had our share of youtii, carelessness, and 
paradox. All these are very fine — a very pretty novel 
could be written on them ; but this comedy of amorous 
follies, this loss of time, of days wasted with the j)rodi- 
gality of people who believe they have an eternity to spend 
— all this must have an end. It is no longer possible for 
us to continue to live much longer on the outskirts of so- 
ciety — on the outskirts of life almost — under penalty of 
justifying the contempt felt for us, and of despising our- 
selves. For, after all, is it a life we lead.? and are not 
the independence, the freedom of manners, of which we 
boast so loudly, very mediocre advantages ? True liberty 
consists in being able to dispense with the aid of others, 
and to exist by oneself, and have we got to that ? No, the 
first scoundrel, whose name we would not bear for five 
minutes, avenges himself for our jests, and becomes our 
lord and master the day on which we borrow of him five 
francs, which he lends us after having made us dispense 
the worth of a hundred and fifty in ruses or in humilia- 
tions. For my part, I have had enough of it. Poetry 
does not alone exist in disorderly touch-and-go happiness, 
loves that last as long as a bedroom candle, more or less 
eccentric revolts against those prejudices which will eter- 
nally rule the world, for it is easier to upset a dynasty than 
a custom, however ridiculous it may be. It is not enough 
to wear a summer coat in December to have talent ; one 
can be a real poet or artist whilst going about well shod 
and eating three meals a day. Whatever one may say, 
and whatever one may do, if one wants to attain anything 
one must always take the commonplace way. This speech 
may astonish you, friend Rodolphe ; you will say that I 
am breaking my idols, you will call me corrupted ; and 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 813 

yet what I tell you is the expression of my sincere wishes. 
Despite myself, a slow and salutary metamorphosis has 
taken place within me ; reason has entered my mind 
— burglariously, if you like, and perhaps against my 
will, but it has got in at last — and has proved to me 
that I was on a wrong track, and that it would be at once 
ridiculous and dangerous to persevere in it. Indeed, 
what will happen if we continue this monotonous and 
idle vagabondage We shall get to thirty, unknown, 
isolated disgusted with all things and with ourselves, full 
of envy towards all those whom we see reach their goal, 
whatever it may be, and obliged, in order to live, to have 
recourse to shameful parasitism. Do not imagine that this 
is a fancy picture I have conjured up especially to frighten 
you. The future does not systematically appear to me all 
black, but neither does it all rose-coloured ; I see it clearly 
as it is. Up till now the life we have led has been 
forced upon us — we had the excuse of necessity. Now 
we are no longer to be excused, and if we do not re-enter 
the world, it will be voluntarily, for the obstacles against 
which we have had to struggle no longer exist.” 

I say, ’’said Rodolphe, “what are you driving at.? 
Why and wherefore this lecture? ” 

“You thoroughly understand me,” replied Marcel, in the 
same serious tones. “Just now I saw you, like myself, 
assailed by recollections that made you regret the past. 
You were thinking of Mimi as I was thinking of Musette. 
Like me, you would have liked to have had your mistress 
beside you. Well, I tell you that we ought, neither of us, 
to think of these creatures, that we were not created and 
sent into the world solely to sacrifice our existence to these 
commonplace Manon Lescauts, and that the Chevalier 
Desgrieux, who is so fine, so true, and so poetical, is only 
saved from being ridiculous by his youth and the illusions 
he cherishes. At twenty he can follow his mistress to 


314 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

America without ceasing to be interesting, but at twenty- 
five he would have shown Manon the door, and would 
have been right. It is all very well to talk ; we are old, 
my dear fellow : we have lived too fast, our hearts are 
cracked, and no longer ring truly ; one cannot be in love 
with a Musette or a Mimi for three years with impunity. 
For me it is all over, and I wish to be thoroughly divorced 
from her remembrance. I am now going to commit to 
the flames some trifles that she has left me during her 
various stays, and which oblige me to think of her when 
I come across them.” 

And Marcel, who had risen, went and took from a drawer 
a little cardboard box in which were the souvenirs of 
Musette — a faded bouquet, a sash, a bit of ribbon, and some 
letters. 

“Come,” said he to the poet, “follow my example, 
Rodolphe.” 

“Very well, then,” said the latter, making an effort; 
“you are right. I, too, will make an end of it with that 
girl with the white hands.” 

And, rising suddenly, he went and fetched a small 
packet containing souvenirs of Mimi of much the same 
kind as those of which Marcel was silently making an 
inventory. 

“This comes in handy,” murmured the painter. “ This 
trumpery will help us to rekindle the fire which is going 
out.” 

“ Indeed,” said Rodolphe, “it is cold enough here to 
hatch Polar bears. ” 

“Come,” said Marcel, “ let us burn in a duet. There 
goes Musette’s prose ; it blazes like punch. She was very 
fond of punch. Come, Rodolphe, attention ! ” 

And for some minutes they alternately emptied into the 
fire, which blazed clear and noisily, the reliquaries of their 
past love. 


315 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTER. 

** Poor Musette ! ” murmured Marcel to himself, looking 
at the last object remaining in his hands. 

It was a little faded bouquet of wild flowers. 

“ Poor Musette, she was very pretty, though, and she 
loved me dearly. Is it not so, little bouquet? Her heart 
told you so the day she wore you at her waist. Poor little 
bouquet, you seem to be pleading for mercy ; well, yes ; 
but on one condition. It is that you will never speak to 
me of her any more, never ! never ! 

And profiting by a moment when he thought himself 
unnoticed by Rodolphe, he slipped the bouquet into his 
breast pocket. 

“So much the worse ; it is stronger than I am. I am 
cheating,” thought the painter. 

And as he cast a furtive glance towards Rodolphe, he 
saw the poet, who had come to the end of his auto-da-fe, 
putting quietly into his own pocket, after having tenderly 
kissed it, a little night cap that had belonged to Mimi. 

“Come,” muttered Marcel, “he is as great a coward as 
I am.” 

At the very moment that Rodolphe was about to return 
to his room to go to bed, there were two little taps at 
Marcel’s door. 

“Who the deuce can it be at this time of night? ” said 
the painter, going to open it. 

A cry of astonishment burst from him when he had done 
so. 

It was Mimi. 

As the room was very dark Rodolphe did not at first 
recognize his mistress, and only distinguishing a woman, 
he thought that it was some passing conquest of his friend s, 
and out of discretion prepared to withdraw. 

“ I am disturbing you,” said Mimi, who had remained 
on the threshold. 

At her voice Rodolphe dropped on his chair as though 
thunderstruck. 


316 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“Goodevening/' said Mimi, coming up to him and 
shaking him by the hand which he allowed her to take 
mechanically. 

“ What the deuce brings you here and at this time of 
night?” asked Marcel. 

“I was very cold,'” said Mimi, shivering; “I saw a 
light in your room as I was passing along the street, and 
although it was very late I came up.” 

She was still shivering, her voice had a crystalline so- 
nority that pierced Rodolphe’s heart like a funeral knell, and 
filled it with a mournful alarm. He looked at her more 
attentively. It was no longer Mimi, but her ghost. 

Marcel made her sit down beside the fire. 

Mimi smiled at the sight of the flame dancing merrily 
on the hearth. 

“It is very nice,” said she, holding out her poor hands 
blue with cold. ‘‘By the w’ay, Monsieur Marcel, you do 
not know why I have called on you ? ” 

“No; indeed.” 

“Well,” said Mimi, “ I simply came to ask you whether 
you could get them to let me a room here. I have just 
been turned out of my lodgings because I owe a month’s 
rent and I do not know where to go to.” 

“The deuce 1 ” said Marcel, shaking his head, “ we 
are not in very good odour with our landlord and our 
recommendation would be a most unfortunate one, my 
poor girl.” 

“What is to be done then ? ” said Mimi, “the fact is I 
have nowhere to go to.” 

“Ah ! ” said Marcel, “you are no longer a viscountess, 
then?” 

“ Good heavens, no ! not at all.” 

“But since when?” 

“Two months ago, already.” 

“ Have you been playing tricks on the viscount, then ? ” 


317 


THE BOHEMIAN^ OF THE LATIN QUAKTER. 

No ; ” said she glancing aside at Rodolphe, who had 
taken his place in the darkest corner of the room, “the 
viscount kicked up a row with me on account of some 
verses that were written about me. We quarrelled, and 
I sent him about his business ; he is a nice skin-flint, I 
can tell you.'" 

“ But," said Marcel, “he had rigged you out very finely, 
judging by what I saw the day I met you." 

“ Well," said Mimi, “would you believe it, that he took 
everything away from me when I left him, and I have 
since heard that he raffled all my clothes at a wretched table 
d’hote where he used to take me to dine. He is wealthy 
enough, though, and yet with all his fortune he is as miserly 
as a clay fire-ball and as stupid as an owl. He would 
not allow me to drink wine without water, and made me 
fast on Fridays. Would you believe it, he wanted me to 
wear black stockings, because they did not want washing 
so often as white ones. You have no idea of it ; he worried 
me nicely, I can tell you. I can well say that I did my 
share of purgatory with him." 

“And does he know your present situation?" asked 
Marcel. 

“I have not seen him since and I do not want to," 
replied Mimi ; “ it makes me sick when I think of him ; 
I would rather die of hunger than ask him for a sou. " 

“ But," said Marcel, “since you left him you have not 
been living alone." 

“Yes, I assure you, Monsieur Marcel," exclaimed Mimi, 
quickly : “I have been working to earn my living, only 
as artificial flower making was not a very flourishing busi- 
ness I took up another. I sit to painters. If you have 
any jobs to give me," she added gaily. 

And having noticed a movement on the part of Rodol- 
phe, whom she did not take her eyes off whilst talking to 
his friend, Mimi went on : 


318 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

“Ah ! But I only sit for the head and hands. I have 
plenty to do, and I am owed money by two or three. I 
shall have some in a couple of days, it is only for that 
interval that I want to find a lodging. When I get the 
money I shall go back to my own. Ah ! ” said she, look- 
ing at the table, which was still laden with the prepara- 
tion for the modest feast which the two friends had 
scarcely touched ; “ you were going to have supper.? 

“No,” said Marcel, “we are not hungry.” 

“You are very lucky,” said Mimi, simply. 

At this remark Rodolphe felt a horrible pang in his 
heart, he made a sign to Marcel, which the latter under- 
stood. 

“By the way,” said the artist, “since you are here 
Mimi, you must take pot-luck with us. We are going to 
keep Christmas Eve, and then — why — we began to think 
of other things.” 

“Then I have come at the right moment,” said Mimi, 
casting an almost famished glance at the food on the 
table. “I have had no dinner,” she whispered to the 
artist, so as not to be heard by Rodolphe, who was 
gnawing his handkerchief to keep him from bursting into 
sobs. 

“ Draw up, Rodolphe,” said Marcel to his friend, “we 
will all three have supper together. ” 

“ No, ” said the poet remaining in his corner. 

“Are you angry, Rodolphe, that I have come here?” 
asked Mimi gently. “ Where could I go to ? ” 

“ No, Mimi,” replied Rodolphe, “only I am grieved to 
see you like this. ” 

“ It is all my own fault, Rodolphe, I do not complain, 
what is done, is done ; so think no more about it than I 
do. Cannot you still be my friend, because you have 
been something else? You can, can you not? Well 
then, do not frown on me, and come and sit down at the 
table with us.” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN OUARTER. 31 

She rose to take him by the hand, but was so weak, 
that she could not take a step, and sank back into her 
chair. 

“The heat has dazed me,” she said, “I cannot stand.’’ 

“Come,” said Marcel to Rodolphe, “come and join 
us. ” 

The poet drew up to the table, and began to eat with 
them. Mimi was very lively. 

“ My dear girl, it is impossible for us to get you a room 
in the house.” 

“I must go away then,” said she, trying to rise. 

“No, no,” said Marcel, “ I have another way of arrang- 
ing things, you can stay in my room, and I will go and 
sleep with Rodolphe.” 

“It will put you out very much, I am afraid,” said 
Mimi, “ but it will not be for long, only a couple of 
days.” 

“It will not put us out at all in that case,” replied 
Marcel, “so it is understood, you are at home here, and 
we are going to Rodolphe’s room. Good-night, Mimi, 
sleep well.” 

“ Thanks,” said she, holding out her hand to Marcel 
and Rodolphe, who moved away together. 

“ Do you want to lock yourself in ? ” asked Marcel as 
he got to the door. 

“Why?’’ said Mimi, looking at Rodolphe, “I am not 
afraid.” 

When the two friends were alone in Rodolphe s room, 
which was on the same floor, Marcel abruptly said to his 
friend. 

“Well, what are you going to do now ?” 

“I do not know,” stammered Rodolphe. 

“Come, do not shilly-shally, go and join Mimi! If 
you do, I prophecy that to-morrow you will be living to- 
gether again. ” 


320 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUABTEB. 


‘'If it were Musette who had returned, what would 
you do ? ” inquired Rodolphe of his friend. 

“ If it were Musette that was in the next room," replied 
Marcel, “well, frankly, I believe that I should not have 
been in this one for a quarter of an hour past." 

“Well," said Rodolphe, “I will be more courageous 
than you, I shall stay here." 

“We shall see that," said Marcel, who had already 
got into bed. “Are you coming to bed ? " 

“Certainly," replied Rodolphe. 

But in the middle of the night, Marcel waking up, per- 
ceived that Rodolphe had left him. 

In the morning, he went and tapped discreetly at the 
door of the room in which Mimi was. 

“Come in," said she, and on seeing him she made a 
sign to him to speak low in order not to wake Rodolphe 
who was asleep. He was seated in an arm-chair, which 
he had drawn up to the side of the bed, his head resting 
on the pillow beside that of Mimi. 

“ Is it like that that you passed the night ?" said Mar- 
cel in great astonishment. 

“ Yes," replied the girl. 

Rodolphe woke up all at once, and after kissing Mimi, 
held out his hand to Marcel, who seemed greatly puzzled. 

“I am going to find some money for breakfast," said 
he to the painter. “ You will keep Mimi company." 

“Well," asked Marcel of the girl when they were alone 
together, “ what took place last night? " 

“Very sad things," said Mimi. “ Rodolphe still loves 
me." 

“ I know that very well." 

“Yes, you wanted to separate him from me. I am 
not angry about it, Marcel ; you were quite right. I have 
done no good to the poor fellow." 

“And you," asked Marcel, “do you still love him?" 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 32) 

** Do I love him ? ” said she, clasping her hands. “ I\ 
is that that tortures me. I am greatly changed, my 
friend, and it needed but little time for that." 

“ Well, now he loves you, you love him and you can- 
not do without one another, come together again and try 
and remain." 

“It is impossible," said Mimi. 

“Why?" inquired Marcel. “Certainly it would be 
more sensible for you to separate, but as for your not 
meeting again, you would have to be a thousand leagues 
from one another. " 

“In a little while I shall be further off than that." 

“ What do you mean ? " 

“Do not speak of it to Rodolphe, it would cause him 
too much pain ; but I am going away forever." 

“But whither ? " 

“Look here, Marcel," said Mimi sobbing, “look." 

And lifting up the sheet of the bed a little she showed 
the artist her shoulders, neck and arms. 

“Good heavens 1” exclaimed Marcel mournfully, 
“ poor girl." 

“Is it not true, my friend, that I do not deceive my- 
self and that I am soon going to die." 

“But how did you get into such a state in so short a 
time ? " 

“Ah I " replied Mimi, “ with the life I have been lead- 
ing for the past two months it is not astonishing ; nights 
spent in tears, days passed in posing in studios without 
any fire, poor living, grief, and then you do not know 
all ; I tried to poison myself with Eau de Javelle. I was 
saved but not for long as you see. Besides, I have never 
been very strong ; in short it is my fault. If I had re- 
mained quietly with Rodolphe I should not be like this. 
Poor fellow, here I am again upon his hands, but it will 
not be for long ; the last dress he will give me will be 

HI 


322 TH E BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 

all white. Marcel, and I shall be buried in it. Ah ! if 
you knew how I suffer because I am going to die. Ro- 
dolphe knows that I am ill, he remained for over an hour 
without speaking last night when he saw my arms and 
shoulders so thin. He no longer recognized his Mimi. 
Alas ! my very looking-glass does not know me. Ah ! 
all the same I was pretty and he did love me. Oh, 
God ! ” she exclaimed, burying her face in Marcel’s 
hands, ‘ ‘ Tm going to leave you and Rodolphe too. Oh, 
God ! and sobs choked her voice. 

‘ ‘ Come, Mimi, said Marcel, ‘ ‘ never despair ; you will 
get well, you only want care and rest.” 

“Ah! no,” said Mimi,” “it is all over, I feel it. I 
have no longer any strength, and when I came here last 
night it took me over an hour to get up the stairs. If I 
had found a woman here I should have gone down again 
by way of the window. However, he was free since we 
were no longer together, but you see, Marcel, I was sure 
he loved me still. It was on account of that," she said, 
bursting into tears, ‘Gt is on account of that that I do not 
want to die at once ; but it is all over with me. He must 
be very good, poor fellow, to take me back after all the 
pain I have given him. Ah ! God is not just since he 
does not leave me only the time to make Rodolphe forget 
the grief I caused him. He does not know the state in 
which I am. I would not have him lie beside me, for 1 
feel as if the earth worms were already devouring my 
body. We passed the night in weeping and talking of old 
times. Ah I how sad it is, my friend, to see behind one 
the happiness one has formerly passed by without notic- 
ing it. I feel as if I had fire in my chest, and when I 
move my limbs it seems as if they were going to snap. 
Hand me my dress, I want to cut the cards to see 
whether Rodolphe will bring in any money. I should 
like to have a good breakfast with you, like we used to ; 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 323 
that would not hurt me. God cannot make me worse 
than 1 am. See, "she added, “showing Marcel the pack 
of cards she had cut, “Spades. It is the colour of death. 

‘ ‘ Clubs, " she added more gaily, ‘ ‘ yes we shall have some 
money. " 

Marcel did not know what to say in presence of the 
lucid delirium of this poor creature, who already felt, as 
she said, the worms of the grave. 

In an hour's time Rodolphe was back. He was accom- 
panied by Schaunard and Gustave Colline. The musician 
wore a summer jacket. He had sold his winter suit to 
lend money to Rodolphe on learning that Mimi was ill. 
Colline on his side had gone and sold some books. If he 
could have got anyone to buy one of his arms or legs he 
would have agreed to the bargain rather than part with 
his cherished volumes. But Schaunard had pointed out 
to him that nothing could be done with his arms or his 
legs. 

Mimi strove to recover her gaiety to greet her old 
friends. 

“lam no longer naughty," said she to them, “and 
Rodolphe has forgiven me. If he will keep me with him 
I will wear wooden shoes and a mob-cap, it is all the 
same to me. Silk is certainly not good for my health," 
she added with a frightful smile. 

At Marcel's suggestion, Rodolphe had sent for one of 
his friends who had just passed as a doctor. It was the 
same who had formerly attended Francine. When he 
came they left him alone with Mimi. 

Rodolphe, informed by Marcel, was already aware of 
the danger run by his mistress. When the doctor had 
spoken to Mimi, he said to Rodolphe — 

You cannot keep her here. Save for a miracle she is 
doomed. You must send her to the hospital. I will give 
you a letter for La Pitie. I know one of the house-sur- 


324 


THE BOHEMIANS OP THE LATIN QUARTER. 


geons there ; she will be well looked after. If she lasts 
till the spring we may perhaps pull her through, but if she 
stays here she will be dead in a week.'’ 

‘‘I shall never dare propose it to her,” said Rodolphe. 

“I spoke to her about it,” replied the doctor, ‘‘and she 
agreed. To-morrow I will send you the order of admis- 
sion to La Pitie. ” 

“My dear,” said Mimi to Rodolphe, “the doctor is 
right ; you cannot nurse me here. At the hospital they 
may perhaps cure me, you must send me there. Ah ! 
you see I do so long to live now, that I would be willing 
to end my days with one hand in a raging fire and the 
other in yours. Besides, you will come and see me. You 
must not grieve, I shall be well taken care of : the doctor 
told me so. You get chicken at the hospital and they 
have fires there. Whilst I am taking care of myself there, 
you will work to earn money, and when I am cured I will 
come back and live with you. I have plenty of hope now. 

I shall come back as pretty as I used to be. I was very 
ill in the days before I knew you, and I was cured. Yet I 
was not happy in those days. I might just as well have 
died. Now that I have found you again and that we can 
be happy, they will cure me again, for I shall fight hard 
against my illness. I will drink all the nasty things they 
give me, and if death seizes on me it will be by force. 
Give me the looking-glass : it seems to me that I have a 
little colour in my cheeks. “Yes,” said she, looking at 
herself in the glass, “my colour is coming back, and my 
hands, see, they are still pretty ; kiss me once more, it 
will not be the last time, my poor darling,” she added, 
clasping Rodolphe round the neck, and burying his face 
in her loosened tresses. 

Before leaving for the hospital, she wanted her friends 
the Bohemians to stay and pass the evening with her. 

“Make me laugh,” said she, “cheerfulness is health 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEE. 326 

to me. It is that wet blanket of a viscount who made me 
ill. Fancy, he wanted to make me learn orthography ; 
what the deuce should I have done with it ? and his 
friends, what a set ! a regular poultry yard, of which the 
viscount was the peacock. He marked his linen himself. 
If ever he marries I am sure that it will be he who will 
suckle the children.'' 

Nothing could be more heart-breaking than the almost 
posthumous gaiety of poor Mi mi. All the Bohemians 
made painful efforts to hide their tears and continue the 
conversation in the jesting tone started by the unfortunate 
girl, for whom fate was so swiftly spinning the linen of 
her last garment. 

The next morning Rodlphe received the order of admis- 
sion to the hospital. Mimi could not walk, she had to 
be carried down to the cab. During the journey she 
suffered horribly from the jolts of the vehicle. Amidst all 
her sufferings the last thing that dies in woman, co- 
quetry, still survived ; two orthree times she had the cab 
stopped before the drapers' shops to look at the display 
in the windows. 

On entering the ward indicated in the letter of admission 
Mimi felt a terrible pang at her heart ; something within 
her told her that it was between these bare and leprous 
walls that her life was to end. She exerted the whole of 
the will left her to hide the mournful impression that had 
chilled her. 

When she was put to bed she gave Rodolphe a final 
kiss and bid him good-bye, bidding him come and see 
her the next Sunday which was a visitors' day. 

*‘It does not smell very nice here," said she to him, 
bring me some flowers, some violets, there are still 
some about.” 

‘^Yes," said Rodolphe, “good-bye till Sunday." 

And he drew together the curtains of her bed. On 


326 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEB. 

hearing the departing steps of her lover, Mimi w^as sud- 
denly seized with an almost delirious attack of fever. 
She suddenly opened the curtains, and leaning half out 
of bed, cried in a voice broken with tears ; 

Rodolphe, take me home, I want to go away.” 

The sister of charity hastened to her and tried to calm 
her. 

Oh ! ” said Mimi, I am going to die here.” 

On Sunday morning, the day he was to go and see 
Mimi, Rodolphe remembered that he had promised her 
some violets. With poetic and loving superstition he 
went on foot in horrible weather to look for the flowers 
his sweetheart had asked him for, in the woods of Aul- 
nay and Fontenay, where he had so often been with her. 
The country, so lively and joyful in the sunshine of the 
bright days of June and July, he found chill and dreary. 
For two hours he beat about the snow-covered thickets, 
lifting the bushes with a stick, and ended by finding a 
few tiny blossoms, and as it happened, in a part of the 
wood bordering the Le Plessis pool, which had been 
their favourite spot when they came into the country. 

Passing through the village of Chatillon, to get back to 
Paris, Rodolphe met in the square before the church a 
baptismal procession, in which he recognized one of his 
friends who was the godfather, with a singer from the 
opera. 

“What the deuce are you doing here ? ” asked the friend, 
very much surprised to see Rodolphe in those parts. 

The poet told him what had happened. 

The young fellow, who had known Mimi, was greatly 
saddened at this story, and feeling in his pocket took out 
a bag of christening sweetmeats and handed it to Ro- 
dolphe. 

“ Poor Mimi, give her this from me and tell her I will 
come and see her. ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 327 

“ Come quickly, then, if you would come in time, ’’said 
Rodolphe, as he left him. 

When Rodolphe got to the hospital, Mimi, who could 
not move, threw her arms about him in a look. 

Ah I there are my flowers,” said she, with the smile of 
satisfied desire. 

Rodolphe related his pilgrimage into that part of the 
country that had been the paradise of their loves. 

“Dear flowers,” said the poor girl, kissing the violets. 
The sweetmeats greatly pleased her too. ‘ ‘ I am not quite 
forgotten, then. The young fellows are good. Ah ! I 
love all your friends,” said she to Rodolphe. 

This interview was almost merry. Schaunard and Col- 
line had rejoined Rodolphe. The nurses had almost to turn 
them out, for they had overstayed visiting time. 

“Good-bye, ’’said Mimi. “Thursday without fail, and 
come early.” 

The following day on coming home at night, Rodolphe 
received a letter from a medical student, a dresser at the 
hospital, to whose care he had recommended the invalid. 
The letter only contained these words: — 

“ My dear friend, I have very bad news for you. No. 
8 is dead. This morning on going through the ward I 
found her bed vacant.” 

Rodolphe dropped on to a chair and did not shed a tear. 
When Marcel came in later he found his friend in the same 
stupefied attitude. With a gesture the poet showed him 
the letter. 

“ Poor girl ! ” said Marcel. 

“ It is strange,” said Rodolphe, putting his hand to his 
heart ; “ I feel nothing here. Was my love killed on learn- 
ing that Mimi was to die ? ” 

“Who knows? ” murmured the painter. 

Mimi’s death caused great mourning amongst the Bohe- 
mians. A week later Rodolphe met in the street the 


328 THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEE, 

dresser who had informed him of his mistress's death. 

“ Ah ! my dearRodolphe,” said he, hastening up to the 
poet, “forgive me the pain I caused you by my heedless- 
ness. ” 

“What do you mean ?” asked Rodolphe in astonish- 
ment. 

“What,” replied the dresser, “ you do not know? You 
have not seen her again ? ” 

“Seen whom ? ” exclaimed Rodolphe. 

“ Her, Mimi.” 

“ What? ” said the poet, turning deadly pale. 

“ I made a mistake. When I wrote you that terrible 
news I was the victim of an error. This is how it was. 
I had been away from the hospital for a couple of days. 
When I returned, on going the rounds with the surgeons, 
I found Mimi’s bed empty. I asked the sister of charity 
what had become of the patient, and she told me that she 
had died during the night. This is what had happened. 
During my absence Mimi had been moved to another 
ward. In No. 8 bed, which she left, they put another 
woman who died the same day. That will explain the 
mistake into which I fell. The day after that on which 
I wrote to you I found Mimi in the next ward. Your ab- 
sence had put her in a terrible state ; she gave me a letter 
for you and I took it on to your place at once.” 

“Good God ! ” said Rodolphe ; “since I thought Mimi 
dead I have not dared to go home. I have been sleeping 
here and there at friends' places. Mimi alive ! Good 
heavens ! what must she think of my absence ! Poor 
girl ! poor girl ! how is she ? When did you see her 
last ? ” 

“The day before yesterday. She was neither better 
nor worse, but very uneasy ; she fancies you must be ill.” 

“Let us go to La Pitie at once,'' said Rodolphe, “ that 
I may see her.” 


In the hospital. 



1 




THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTEB. 329 

‘‘Stop here for a moment,” said the dresser, when they 
reached the entrance to the hospital, ‘ ‘ I will go and ask 
the house surgeon for permission for you to enter.” 

Rodolphe waited in the hall for a quarter of an hour. 
When the dresser returned he took him by the hand and 
said these words : 

“My friend, suppose that the letter I wrote to you a 
week ago was true ? ” 

“What !” exclaimed Rodolphe, leaning against a pillar, 
“ Mimi ” 

“This morning at four o'clock.” 

“ Take me to the amphitheatre,” said Rodolphe, “ that 
I may see her.” 

“ She is no longer there,” said the dresser. And point- 
ing out to the poet a large van which was in the court- 
yard drawn up before a building above which was in- 
scribed “Amphitheatre,” he added, “She is there.' 

It was indeed the vehicle in which the corpses that are 
unclaimed are taken to their pauper’s grave. 

“ Good-bye,” said Rodolphe to the dresser. 

“Would you like me to come with you a bit?” sug- 
gested the latter. 

“No,” said Rodolphe, turning away, “I need to be 
alone. 


330 


.THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUAKTER. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

YOUTH IS FLEETING. 

A YEAR after Mimi’s death Rodolphe and Marcel, who 
had not quitted one another, celebrated by a festival their 
entrance into the official world. Marcel, who had at 
length secured admission to the annual exhibition of pic- 
tures, had had two paintings hung, one of which had been 
bought by a rich Englishman, formerly Musette's protec- 
tor. With the product of this sale, and also of a Govern- 
ment order, Marcel had partly paid off his past debts. He 
had furnished decent rooms, and had a real studio. Al- 
most at the same time Schaunard and Rodolphe came be- 
fore the public who bestow fame and fortune — the one 
with an album of airs that were sung at all the concerts, 
and which gave him the commencement of a reputation ; 
the other with a book that occupied the critics for a month. 

As to Barbemuche he had long since given up Bohe- 
mianism. Gustave Colline had inherited money and 
made a good marriage. He gave evening parties with 
music and light refreshments. 

One evening Rodolphe, seated in his own arm-chair 
with his feet on his own rug, saw Marcel come in quite 
flurried. 

^ ‘ You do not know what has just happened to me," said 
he. 

^‘No,” replied the poet. “I know that I have been to 
your place, that you were at home, and that you would 
not answer the door." 

** Yes, I heard you. But guess who was with me." 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. 331 
How do I know ? ” 

‘‘Musette, who burst upon me last evening like a 
bombshell, got up as a Dibar deur.*’ 

“Musette! You have once more found Musette!” 
said Rodolphe, in a tone of regret. 

“Do not be alarmed; hostilities were not resumed. 
Musette came to pass with me her last night of Bohe- 
mianism.” 

“What?” 

“She is going to be married.” 

“Bah ! ” said Rodolphe. “Who is the victim ? ” 

“A postmaster who was her last lover’s guardian ; a 
queer sort of fellow, it would seem. Musette said to him, 

‘ My dear sir, before definitely giving you my hand and 
going to the registrar’s I want a week of freedom. I have 
my affairs to settle, and I want to drink my last glass of 
Champagne, dance my last quadrille, and embrace for 
the last time my lover, Marcel, who is now a gentleman, 
like everybody else it seems.’ And for a week the dear 
creature has been looking for me. Hence it was that she 
burst upon me last evening, just at the moment I was 
thinking of her. Ah ! my friend, altogether we had a sad 
night of it. It was not at all the same thing it used to be, 
not at all. We were like some wretched copy of a mas- 
terpiece ? I have even written on the subject of this last 
separation a little ballad which I will whine out to you if 
you will allow me,” and Marcel began to chant the fol- 
lowing verses : — 

“I saw a swallow yesterday, 

He brought Spring’s promise to the air; 

‘ Remember her, ’ he seemed to say, 

‘ Who loved you when she’d time to spare;* 

And all the day I sate before 
The almanac of yonder year, 

When I did nothing but adore. 

And you were pleased to hold me dear. 


3 90 


THE BOHEMIANS OE THE LATIN QUARTER. 


“But do not think my love is dead, 

Or to forget you I begin. 

If you sought entry to my shed 
My heart would leap to let you in : 

Since at your name it trembles still— 

Muse of oblivious fantasy ! — 

Return and share, if share you will, 

Joy’s consecrated bread with me. 

“The decorations of the nest 

Which saw our mutual ardour bum, 

Already seem to wear their best 
At the mere hope of such return. 

Come, see if you can recognize 

Things your departure reft of glee, 

The bed, the glass of extra size. 

In which you often drank for me. 

“You shall resume the plain white gown 
You used to look so nice in, then; 

On Sunday we can still run down 
To wander in the woods again. 

Beneath the bower, at evening. 

Again we’ll drink the liquid bright 
In which your song would dip its wing 
Before in air it took to flight. 

Musette, who has at last confessed 
The carnival of life was gone. 

Came back, one morning, to the nest 
Whence, like a wild bird, she had flown : 
But, while I kissed the fugitive, 

My heart no more emotion knew, 

For, she had ceased, for me, to live. 

And “ You,” she said, “ no more are you.” 

“ Heart of my heart ! ” I answered, “Go ! 

We cannot call the dead love back; 

Best let it lie, interred, below 
The tombstone of the almanac 
Perhaps a spirit that remembers 
The happy time it notes for me 
May find some day amongst its embers 
Of a lost Paradise the key . ” 


THE BOHEMIANS OF THE LATIN QUARTER. 333 

** Well,” said Marcel, when he had finished; “you may 
feel reassured now, my love for Musette is dead and buried 
here,” he added ironically, indicating the manuscript of 
his poem. 

“ Poor lad,” said Rodolphe ; “ your wit is fighting a 
duel with your heart, take care it does not kill it. ” 

“That is already lifeless,” replied the painter ;” we are 
done for, old fellow, we are dead and buried. Youth is 
fleeting ! Where are you going to dine this evening ? " 

“ If you like,” said Rodolphe, “ we will go and dine for 
twelve sous at our old restaurant in the Rue du Four, 
where they have plates of village crockery, and where we 
used to feel so hungry when we had done dinner.” 

“No,” replied Marcel; “I am quite willing to look 
back at the past, but it must be through the medium of a 
bottle of good wine and sitting in a comfortable arm-chair. 
What would you, I am corrupted. I only care for what 
is good 1” 


THE END. 













